


No More Mr. Nice Guy

by Tirya56



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Prank Wars, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tirya56/pseuds/Tirya56
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sideswipe goes a bit too far with his pranks and Prowl is fed up. It's time to stop being professional and start getting down and dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stuck On You

Prowl was going to kill Sideswipe.

There was no doubt about it. The red Lamborghini warrior from the slimy underbelly of the Inferno was going to rue the day he messed with his Vice Commander. The Datsun was going to shoot Sideswipe into all little kinds of red and ebony matchbox cars. His head was going to be displayed proudly on Prowl’s desk, warning all who saw it that they had better not cross him lest they join the new collection. Yes, it would be sadistic and cruel and mech fluidy and everything a Decepticon would whole-heartedly approve of.

If he could only stand up, he’d be able to begin the slaughter.

As it was, poor Prowl wasn’t going to be rising from his recharge berth any time soon. Somehow during the night, the red hellion had snuck into his quarters with what had to be the world’s supply of linked bungee cords and firmly attached his superior to the cot. The strength of the little cords were such that in this high density, no one, not even an Autobot warrior, could snap them.

Therefore, unable to reach his communicator or snap the cords to free himself, Prowl was subjected to staring at his ceiling that sported, in Sideswipe’s quite unique handwriting, a statement wishing him a relaxing day since he was working too hard and deserved a break.

What was worse was that many of their colleagues would probably be inclined to agree with the crimson demon child and let him stay there all tied up. He sighed derisively. Slackers. They only thought he worked too hard because they didn’t work hard enough. Was it his fault he liked to be efficient at his job? If he wasn’t acting like the strict mother around here, nothing would get done at all! Prowl shuddered to think what Jazz’s reaction would be to his predicament.

That is, if anyone ever bothered to come find him.

Being the ever-reliable and responsible Vice Commander of the elite Autobot force did have its drawbacks. He was a busy mech and never shirked his duties. This, anyone knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. Therefore, any absences noted on his part would only be written off as him seeing to something more important. What was more important than his duties, no one need ever know. After all, they were just the poor grunts, right?

This meant that he may very well shut down from starvation before anyone actually wondered just where their dear Prowl was. He at least hoped Sideswipe would have the decency to release him before then. Prowl was a personal favorite of all the red warrior’s victims, so he figured that it would be in the young one’s best interests to keep his prey alive as long as possible.

A wicked smile came to his face, making the normally neutral face appear as sinister as his most impish warrior. Sideswipe would be begging for death before the end. That Prowl knew for certain.

He was sick of being the prey all the time.

This time, it was the imp who would suffer.

The game was afoot.

Sideswipe was going down.

In flames if Prowl had anything to say about it. And, he mused, staring at the scrawled handwriting on the ceiling as though it held the secrets to the universe, he had quite a bit to say about the matter. And plenty of time.

OoOoOo

“Hey, there you are, man!”

Prowl nodded easily to Jazz who greeted him cheerfully from his seat at the console. In his absence, the other officer had taken over in some of his duties. He was proud of his friend for filling in without being asked. He had the true makings of a leader if only he would step up more often.

“Did any situation arise in my absence?” Prowl asked, coming up to look over the various read-outs. Everything seemed alright at least.

“Nah, quiet as can be. You alright to take over?” He did have other duties, but nothing that couldn’t wait.

“Yes, thank you for your help, Jazz.” The Datsun took his seat, eager to be back to work. His momentary… diversion was over at last due to some innovative thinking. Prowl wanted nothing more to return to the life of a Vice-Commander once more. With some stipulations now of course.

Jazz waved off the gratitude with a grin. “Any time, buddy. Right now I gotta scat before Mirage and Hound start briefing themselves. See you later.”

Prowl nodded, the Special Ops officer’s attitude only reaffirming what he knew. No one would question where he had been or what he had been doing. The mere thought of their uptight, stoic tactician even bending the rules was laughable.

Good. That would make his job that much easier.

He let a smile peek through at the edges as he sat back and relaxed.

About a half hour later, the jaunty bounce of a young mech entered Prowl’s audio sensors. The bounce of one so secure in their position on the food chain it was almost sad. Almost.

“Just the mech I wanted to see,” the tactician practically purred, swiveling in his chair to face the child of the Unmaker himself in all his crimson glory. “Good afternoon, Sideswipe.”

A slight widening of vibrant blue optics was the only indication of the warrior’s surprise at seeing his prey sprung from his trap so soon. But his easy smile didn’t waver in the slightest and the lightness of his step continued. He would not be caught. He was much too good for that. The perfect alibi, the undeniable charm, the devastating good looks… there was nothing to fear from a mech who couldn’t pin anything on him.

Ah, the Datsun mentally nodded. So Sideswipe intended to be blamed, did he? The extra sparkle in his optics told all. He expected Prowl to give the standard accusation, verdict, and punishment right away. The perfect excuse was just waiting on the warrior’s lips, needing only Prowl’s word to begin their usual conversation. It was a dance both knew very well and Sideswipe was fully prepared.

“I have come to a conclusion,” Prowl went on smoothly. “And I have decided to declare war.”

Sideswipe’s optics went a little bit wider. That wasn’t in the script. Prowl was supposed to accuse him so he could deliver his line. They were supposed to spar in verbal warfare for a good 30 minutes until they got to this point. The excuse died on his lips as his processor struggled to adapt to the change. “War?” he smiled easily, fully caught up in a sparkbeat. “I hate to disappoint you, Prowl, but we’re already in one. You’re 5 million years too late.”

“Not on the Decepticons, Sideswipe,” he shook his head patronizingly. “They’re the least of my worries. Child’s play as the humans might put it.” He stood up, and approached the young scarlet demon-spawn. Though he was shorter by at least a head, Prowl was very much in charge here and Sideswipe was just beginning to figure that out. The roles of prey and predator were beginning to reverse.

“I used to think,” he continued, “that your brother would be the death of me. After all, he is the cause of at least half the infighting on base. But then I wondered if I wasn’t looking at the wrong Lamborghini. This morning I was able to clear my processor and reassess my priorities. I have decided to declare war on you, my little red friend. You and I shall henceforth be on opposing forces.”

“What?” Sideswipe asked, puzzled. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s quite simple and I have no doubt you will learn the rules quickly. In the meanwhile, you sit down here,” Prowl moved him to a chair. “Watch that monitor.” He pointed. “And press that button,” he pointed again, “if you see anything unusual.”

A little insulted as he did know how to do security monitor duty, Sideswipe looked up at his superior. “And what will you be doing?” he asked insolently, a bit miffed at being thwarted from his original destination. His brother was waiting for him so they could grab a few bots and play a good game of Ultimate Mini-bot. Much like the human game of Ultimate Frisbee with a few altered rules.

“I will be catching up on all the work you prevented me from this morning,” Prowl replied, not sounding the least bit upset over the delay.

The impish look returned to the red melee warrior. He puffed up a little, growing more confident by the cycle. Ah, now they were back where they belonged. His territory. “But Prowl, how could I have done anyth…”

“Shut up, Sideswipe.”

There was silence for a moment as Sideswipe just looked at his Vice-Commander with the most astonished face. He struggled to make sense of what he had just heard. Prowl had never told anyone to shut up no matter how exasperated he became. It required far too few syllables. It wasn’t a proper thing for a high ranking Autobot to use. It wasn’t even in his vocabulary. Who was this mech and what had he done to the real Prowl?

The alleged imposter turned his back and walked toward the hallway that would ultimately lead to his office, not concerned at Sideswipe’s continued silence. He’d always wanted to render the little gremlin speechless and now that he’d done it, it felt rather fulfilling. “Oh and Sideswipe?” he added, turning back at the last moment.

The red melee warrior just nodded, still looking like a large red deer facing the headlights.

“Send Ratchet my compliments and be sure to thank him for me.”

Ratchet? Why in the world would Sideswipe go see the CMO unless he was deathly injured? Ratchet had a tendency of throwing things when he saw either brother in his medical bay unless they were hurt. Sometimes even when they were hurt. And he had a damn killer arm too. But oh no, no one else received the same abuse. It wasn’t like he and Sunstreaker were the designated scapegoats of the Ark or anything.

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, swiveling right and left with his feet propped on the counter. It was a shame that Prowl had gotten free so soon. He was hoping at least for half a day of freedom. Where had he gone wrong? He was sure he had enough bungee cords…

Ah well, there was always next time. Finally he decided that if he was going to be here for the next few megacycles, he may as well enjoy himself. A cup of warm energon would be just the thing to cheer him up from his disappointment, and he knew there was one with his name on it waiting in the lounge. No one would miss him for a few nanoclicks.

There was only one problem though.

He couldn’t get up.

His back, his arms, his backside… they were all quite firmly secured to the chair. Squirming this way and that, the young warrior tried his hardest to be free. What was going on? Had Windcharger accidentally magnetized the room again? That couldn’t be it; Prowl had gotten up very easily from his own chair when he entered the room.

Suddenly it hit him. Why that sly little Datsun; he set him up! And he didn’t even bother to hide it, so naturally it was overlooked. However, he grossly underestimated Sideswipe if he thought a little adhesive was going to curb his playful tendencies. This was supposed to teach him a lesson? He wasn’t known as the resident prankster for nothing. Freedom was only an ingenious scheme away.

Half a megacycle later, Sideswipe had to admit that he’d met his match. 

Whatever his superior had used worked like nothing he’d ever seen before, and he’d known his share of super-glues in his day. Trying one last time before giving in to defeat and hollering for help, he hooked his feet under the counter and pulled with all his considerable might. Groaning with the strain, he missed the chair’s own groan as it moved with him. With a sudden jerk, the chair became entirely dislodged from its bolted spot on the floor and Sideswipe went down in a surprised heap of red, ebony, and silver.

The floor thankfully muffled the quite colorful and inventive metaphors Sideswipe directed at his adversary as he struggled to get his feet beneath him. It was only through sheer will that he managed to stand up all the way… or at least as up as being stuck in a seated position would allow. As it was, he looked remarkably similar to a large crimson turtle with a silver shell and tail.

What in the name of Primus was he going to do? Any minute now the shifts would switch and everyone would be able to see their prankster the helpless victim of a prank himself. While he was not so easily embarrassed, he did have a thing against being used for amusement. The great Sideswipe was the creator of pranks. Never the victim.

“Oh no,” he moaned, finally remembering his superior’s departing words. Now he knew where the adhesive had come from. Sick of bots like Ironhide and Brawn leaping up in the middle of a procedure, Ratchet had designed an adhesive that would keep them firmly put. As it was of his own design, only he knew how to remove it. “Prowl, you’re molten slag when I get out of this!”

Feebly hobbling toward the med bay, a med bay located at the opposite side of the base, Sideswipe hoped to make it before the shifts changed. Today, however, was not his day as he was met with a pack of Autobots going to and fro. What had he done in a past life to deserve this?

Shutting down his audios to the loud guffaws and howls of laughter from all sides, Sideswipe ran his processor into overdrive. Coming up with idea after idea. Anything to keep his mind off the humiliation and doom that awaited him only a few more feet away in the shape of a big white bot with a laser scalpel and damn killer arm.

So Prowl wanted a prank war did he?

Let the games begin.


	2. Room Raiders

Let it be known that Sideswipe would never take standing upright for granted ever again.

Upon reaching the med bay, after hobbling some billion odd miles, he had been sufficiently humbled to the point that begging Ratchet to help him was not below his dignity. In fact, it felt like the best idea he’d had all fragging week.

“Ratchet?” he mewled hobbling in piteously. He prayed desperately that the CMO was in a charitable mood today. “Ratchet, I need your help.”

Said CMO didn’t even look up from his work. “If you can whine like that,” he commented, “you’re well enough to slag off.”

Charitable, apparently, had been the wrong word to use.

“But Ratchet,” Sideswipe went on, “pleeeease?”

“Oh for the love of Primus,” Ratchet sighed turning around. “Can’t you give it a rest for one bloody…”

They stared at one another for a moment. Blustreak, who lay whimpering in pain beneath the medic’s hands, stopped as he looked over. Powerglide stifled what sounded like a giggle from across the room. Even the half-conscious Trailbreaker next to him managed a painful snort of laughter.

“Ok I’ll bite,” the medic finally said, optics wide. “Why exactly is your skidplate attached to one of the control deck’s chairs?”

Mumbling an answer, Sideswipe struggled to keep eye contact.

“What was that?”

“Prowl.” The one growled out word said it all. Ratchet’s mouth twitched. “It’s not funny, ok?! My back hurts, and my feet feel all tingly, and my mech fluid is rushing to my head! How Spike’s ancestors managed to walk like this is totally beyond me. Help me, Ratchet! Please!”

“I was wondering what he intended to use it for,” the white mech said, lips turning up ever so slightly. “But I’m sorry, Sideswipe, I can’t help you.” He sniffed importantly, turning back around to re-open Bluestreak’s chest plate. “I don’t like your tone and I don’t think Spike would appreciate it either.”

Ok, back to begging it was.

“Ratchet, please help me! You’re the only one who can! You’d never leave a bot suffering would you?”

The older mech swiveled back around, all humor leaving his face. “I could put you out of your suffering, you know.” He held up his laser scalpel in emphasis.

The red warrior shrank back slightly, eyeing the blade warily. Ratchet could wield that as effectively as any melee fighter and had twice the temper of one. “Ratchet, when do I ever ask you for something?”

“Right now you’re asking me to kill you,” Ratchet growled. “Slag off and let me work.”

Sideswipe looked up at the medic with wide lapis-lazuli optics, as innocent as the day he was sparked. His bottom lip trembled slightly. “Please?” he asked in a small voice.

Everyone knew that beneath that gruff exterior lay a big teddy bear of a mech. It just took some considerable effort to draw that cuddly softy out. Seeing Ratchet finally come over with a sigh, he knew he had done it. He would be free in no time.

The senior Autobot knelt down to the younger bot’s level, “is it really that bad?” he asked gently.

Deciding that it couldn’t hurt to keep it up, Sideswipe nodded, optics shining bright in childlike purity. “Yeah.”

“Well let’s get you off your feet then,” Ratchet said, putting both hands on the top of the chair.

Before the red Lamborghini could breathe a sigh of relief, the medic had flipped him upside down so he lay on his back on the ground. His feet jerked in the air, completely helpless and unable to move.

Was that Powerglide giggling again?

He looked up from his upside-down position accusingly. Ratchet only chuckled darkly. “Well you’re off your feet, aren’t you? Now get the hell out of my medical wing, you overgrown can opener!”

Dammit! Sideswipe’s feet still ran in mid-air on their own accord as if to find some hidden foothold. He was so close and yet so far!

Thanking his creator for formidable height, bless his black shriveled spark, Sideswipe let his feet fall straight down so they were flush with the bottom of the seat. He just barely managed to reach the floor, but just barely worked fine. He had humiliated himself pretty effectively so far in front of everyone so far, so he may as well do a thorough job of it. Besides, he wanted out of this damn chair and he wanted out now!

Scooting inch by inch until he rested at Ratchet’s feet, Sideswipe put every effort in his being into looking like the sweetest little thing in the Primus-forsaken universe. “You know, Ratchet,” he cooed. “Sunny and me have always thought of you as our creator.”

Ratchet glared down him. He had known the twins’ creator through his time as a young medic, and he knew just how unpleasant old Triggerpinch had been. His left foot pushed the chair back behind him at least a dozen feet.

“Better than that!” Sideswipe blurted out, realizing his mistake. He scooted back desperately. “You were the creator Pinch could never be. You always looked out for us and we’ll never forget that! We owe your our lives, Ratchet!”

He and his chair were kicked back again.

Again he scooted back.

Let no one say he wasn’t persistent.

“Even better than that!” he went on. His voice dropped to a soft whisper and a sheepish look crossed his handsome face. Not even Bluestreak would have been able to hear him. “You’re like a father to us. Like what the humans have.”

Cybertronians could barely comprehend the relationship of an organic parent and its offspring, but they knew it was significantly deeper than that of a creator and its sparkling. Most never really kept in contact with their creators after infanthood had ended. But a parent, an organic parent, had such a deep bond with its child that lasted their entire lives.

Therefore, Sideswipe wasn’t surprised that Ratchet stiffened at his words. Well, it wasn’t like he was lying; he was proud of the fact that he never lied. Sure he would try to dance around incriminating himself, but never straight out tell a falsehood. His integrity was a fact well known to everyone, but that didn’t mean he had to make this a serious moment either. Heart to hearts never appealed to him.

When Ratchet looked down with a startled expression on his face, Sideswipe rubbed his head against the medic’s leg like a bodiless cat. “Please help me?” he asked quietly, optics pleading with him. “Daddy?” 

Of all the mechs who could toe the line between endearing and irritating, Sideswipe was the undisputed master. Ratchet shook his head, a smile threatening to break through. “You make me sick,” he grumbled.

Thank Primus and Pinch for undeniable charm and devastating good looks.

OoOoOo

Prowl’s doorwings sagged in relief as the last report was successfully sent to Optimus’ personal computer. It had taken half the night, and if he wasn’t much mistaken, the sun wouldn’t take long to rise. At least he was caught up on all his work. His recharge berth never looked so good.

Yet… something was off.

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Sideswipe all day or night, and that was worrisome. He knew the little red demon would have figured out the prank within half a megacycle. When he looked into the control room for a minute on a break, the seat had been somehow torn from the floor. Sideswipe should be furious at him, and ready to lash back at his superior at any given moment.

So where was he?

Why hadn’t he made Prowl incapable of getting any work done in revenge?

The tactician knew better than to believe it was a lesson taken quietly. If Sideswipe by some miracle decided to take the punishment and let it go, Prowl would be most disappointed. It wasn’t a war if one side surrendered, and he was just getting warmed up too…

Ah well, the imp was probably waiting until the next day to get his revenge. That suited him just fine.

Upon entering his room, Prowl cast a wary look around just in case Sideswipe had indeed done something. Everything was in its proper place, not a thing touched. No trick wires, no precariously hanging buckets of paint, not even a single wild animal wrecking havoc.

Sideswipe still remembered where his quarters were, right?

Checking his internal clock, Prowl noted that he would have to be up for Optimus’ morning brief in a little over a megacycle. There was really no point to settling down for a recharge when he would just be more tired upon waking. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled all-nighters, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. He might as well catch up on a novel he’d started to pass the time.

Now logically, a datapad weighing perhaps 50 to 75 pounds, give or take, could be lifted by a 3 ton robot capable of lifting twice its weight.

Logically.

However, much to Prowl’s distress, logic had very little to do with the situation at hand.

It wasn’t just his datapad that defied the laws of the universe. It was his spare acid-pellet blaster, his pack of cards laying nearby, the framed picture of he and the rest of the command element… everything in his room was as secure to their respective counters as a bolted chair in the command deck.

Wandering throughout the room, Prowl tried to lift object after object, but nothing would budge. Whatever Sideswipe had done, he had been quite thorough about it. He’d forgotten nothing. There was only one conclusion he and his battle computer could reach. Somehow the demon-spawn had done the impossible and earned Ratchet’s favor. This would have helped him obtain his own container of what Ironhide lovingly referred to as Skidplate Cement.

Well, there was really nothing he could do about it at the moment. If he tried to wake Ratchet to help him remove the stuff, he had little doubt the CMO would make him wish he’d never been sparked, superior or no superior. One simply did not wake up the medic who rarely slept enough as it was. Not if they wanted to function properly anyway. Reporting to Optimus’ briefing with a laser scalpel lodged in his throat was not at the top of his priority list.

Finally, there mod-podged with Skidplate Cement on the surface of Prowl’s recharge berth, was a letter containing large red lettering proclaiming that the tactician had been firmly ‘Swiped.’ Original the red hellion was not. The remains of a poor abused chair sat next to the letter, likewise stuck to the berth. He couldn’t lay down to recharge even if he had the time.

His optics flashed a glint of approval and the promise of sweet revenge. The proverbial issue of war had been returned with suitable canon fire.

He wouldn’t lower himself to tugging at the firmly attached items; he knew very well they weren’t going anywhere. Ratchet would help him when he was free, Prowl was sure. Despite whatever underhanded deed the hell-spawn had done to temporarily win favor.

Well, he had about a megacycle of freedom before duty called. War had been declared. Now to set the stakes.

OoOoOo

Sideswipe stared alternately between the datapad and his superior. Prowl had asked to see him in his office after he came back from his patrol route. Cautious, but unable to refuse, the young warrior had done as he was told. Perhaps he was in trouble for retaliating the night before? Perhaps Prowl hadn’t wanted a prank battle after all? He had been waiting for retaliation all day after he went through his superior’s room, yet nothing had come. Maybe there really wasn’t a war to be had.

He was sadly mistaken.

While Prowl had sprung no trap for him in his office, he did present his adversary with a datapad identical to one in his hands.

“What is this?” Sideswipe asked, holding it up.

The second in command smiled the serene smile of the Buddha. “Exactly what it looks like,” he purred. “Agree and sign.”

The red warrior shrugged and reread it:

We the undersigned do agree to the following rules:  
This is an equal battlefield. No use of rank permitted.  
No enlisting others to directly aid. Indirect aid is permitted.  
Nothing that may be dangerous is permitted.  
War must not interfere with duties.  
No one, not even the indirect associates, may be made aware of aforementioned war. If questioned, we the undersigned shall deny its existence.

The stakes are as follows:  
One month of free reign, be it perfect behavior or no punishment for petty transgressions.

“You don’t kid around, do you?” Sideswipe asked, impressed with the contract. Who ever heard of setting rules for a prank war? What kind of infanthood had poor Prowl had anyway?

“Taking things seriously is quite refreshing,” the tactician shrugged easily. “I recommend you try it sometime.”

Ignoring the obvious dig, the Lamborghini asked, “so I just sign it.”

“Just sign it.”

“And you won’t pull rank on me?”

“So long as you don’t set your brother on me,” Prowl returned.

Alright, that was fair enough. Sideswipe signed it with the electronic pen and handed it back to Prowl to sign. Doing the same for Prowl’s copy, they subspaced them away from sight. It would not do to lay them around for others to find.

And that was it. Dismissed for the evening, Sideswipe earned a ‘good night’ from the tactician and sent on his way. Shrugging to himself, the young warrior figured the rules would take effect the next day as Prowl probably had something officer-y to do. 

“Hey, Sides,” his brother’s ever pleasant growl chimed in through his comm..

“Hey, Sunny,” he replied lightly. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Was it just him or did his brother sound particularly angry?

“On my way to our quarters. Why?”

“Move your aft, we need words.” He signed out, cutting off any question the poor red twin might have asked.

Uh-oh. What had he done now? Going through his processor, he struggled to remember how exactly he had managed to tick off Sunstreaker today. 

A prank? No, that wasn’t it.

Taking something without permission? No, not that either. 

Any open paint or sludge he may have left lying around for his brother to sit on? Not since last week.

Reaching his hallway at last, he got an answer. Standing in all his gold and ebony, 30 foot, pissed off glory stood Sunstreaker, tapping his foot impatiently. Since he was looking at his approaching brother like he might a Decepticon before pouncing, Sideswipe very wisely approached with caution. While his brother would never really harm him, he would give him an aft-smearing that would sting for a good long while if he thought he’d been slighted. As the red warrior had just earned the good graces of the only one who could put him back together, he wasn’t too eager to receive any of his twin’s special brand of sunshine.

“Lucy, you got some ‘splainin to do,” Sunstreaker snarled when he’d come as close as he dared.

Since when did Sunny… but Sideswipe knew better than to even ask. Only his brother had the rare talent of making a comedic line sound like a death sentence. Peering into his room as that was obviously where the problem lay, his optics widened into large sapphire saucers. Looking up at the door tag, he made sure it really was he and his brother’s room before looking back in.

Had they been reassigned and not notified? Everything was gone. All their belongings, datapads, chairs, posters, desks… slag, their fragging bunk was missing! All gone. Only an empty rectangular room remained and a large red symbol on the wall written in marker where his berth should be. To most, the symbol would mean nothing, but to the young melee warrior, it meant everything. The thin shape, not unlike a certain bot’s chevron, stood proudly against its sparse background.

“Well?” Sunstreaker demanded. “I know you know what this is all about.”

Opening his mouth to explain the whole thing, Sideswipe remembered the contract waiting innocently in subspace and promptly shut his mouth. No one could know, including and especially his brother. “And how,” he said smoothly, “do we know you didn’t just tick somebody off yourself? You’re not Mr. Popularity around here. You probably smeared the wrong bot one too many times.”

“Because if I slagged someone off, they would try to do worse than stealing my shit. No, Sides, this has your brand of immaturity written all over it.”

Vaguely, Sideswipe wondered what his volatile twin would do if he realized he had just called his Vice Commander immature. Or if Prowl himself had heard him say it. He found himself smirking despite his greatest efforts.

“This is not funny,” Sunstreaker smacked him behind the head. “Tell me what the slag is going on before I rearrange your miserable carcass into an energon mug!”

Well, since he had put it so nicely. “Look, Sunny, I really…”

“Hey Siders,” Jazz’s bemused voice chimed in over the comm, saving him from answering the yellow warrior.

“What’s up?” he answered, relief pouring through his circuits.

“I…er… you might wanna come up here to the North side o’ the mountain. Sunny too. There’s something you outta see.”


	3. Outside Looking In

With the only other option of trying to explain things to his furious brother, Sideswipe obeyed the Special Ops officer’s request. The heavy footsteps of Sunstreaker following assured the red Lamborghini that he would not have to face whatever it was alone. There were very few reasons Jazz might have called them when he was supposedly on leave for the night. Usually he liked to take off on nights like this.

He would bet his jetpack the young officer knew something about what had happened to their possessions. He had had that tone of his; the one that said he knew the best joke in the world and couldn’t wait to share it. Sideswipe doubted either he or his twin would be laughing though.

“I don’t know who you two got riled up,” Jazz said, meeting them at the entrance to the Ark. His face was split in a wide grin and whatever lay behind his visor must have been twinkling. It seemed that nothing short of a Decepticon attack, if that, could ruin the jolly mood he’d been set in. “But y’gotta admit they got you good.”

“What are you talking about?” Sunstreaker grumped as they climbed behind the mountain to face whatever it was that they needed to see. The area around the mountain was mostly shale, and little flecks of stone kept scratching his legs as they slid around him. What had he done to deserve this? He’d been a relatively good bot lately too; hadn’t mauled anyone in a week if you didn’t count that Brawn incident. Which he didn’t.

“See for yourself,” Jazz swept his arms out, indicating to the bottom of the hill. The twins walked up to him, one on either side. They looked down dutifully, and the mystery finally ended.

Sideswipe wondered just what the penalty was for murdering one’s Vice Commander.

“Well,” he said with a forced lightness to his brother. “At least we know where our stuff is.”

Indeed they did. Everything, from the bunk to Sunny’s favorite waxing rag was spread out at the bottom of the hill, surrounded on all sides by sand… well… shale dunes. Not only was it all there, but it had been arranged so neatly that it imitated their room perfectly. The posters were laid across the surrounding dunes right where they would be on the walls. The shuriken he had been sharpening that morning lay at the foot of his bunk right where he’d left it.

The look his dear sweet twin sent his way made him suddenly thankful Jazz was standing in between them.

“So tell me,” Jazz requested jovially, not noticing the Look of Death Sunstreaker had in his icy blue optics. He was bouncing of the balls of his feet, eager to be in on the grand joke. “Who did you two tick off bad enough for this?”

“The cameras don’t show anything?” Sideswipe asked, edging a little further away from Tall, Yellow, and Livid. Perhaps Prowl had been careless and allowed himself to be seen. A fool’s dream, but Primus, worlds have been built on the dreams of fools.

“Well that’s the thing,” the Porsche said. “The cameras show the Dinobots carrying all your stuff out.”

“The Dinobots?” the red twin wondered aloud. If it actually hadn’t been Prowl, but instead the Dinobots, that still didn’t make any sense. If you angered the Dinobots, they would crush you, fillet you, and serve you to Ratchet in a shoebox. Practical jokes, especially something like this, just wasn’t like them. There was just too much thinking involved!

“Yup. Which means whoever really was behind it managed to convince the Dinobots to help them, and everyone knows that takes more than a smile.” He scrutinized the scene before him, using his skills of observation. “I’m guessing our culprit was waiting out here and set it up themselves, probably to avoid getting nabbed by the cameras.” He grinned at the miserable Sideswipe. “So, c’mon, man. Spill it. Who was it?”

“Yes, brother mine. Spill away,” Sunstreaker hissed, showing quite impressive self-control by not murdering his twin. At least he thought it was impressive.

“Um… er…” how could he answer and not actually answer? He was supposed to be good at this sort of thing! His brother cracked a knuckle and he blanched. “Well, what about Prowl?” he suggested. Prowl never said they couldn’t offer it up as a suggestion. They just couldn’t reveal the actual war itself.

There was a long moment of silence.

The Porche puffed himself up slightly and Sideswipe half feared he’d offended him somehow by accusing his best friend of theft and petty pranks. His mouth was tight, and he began to shake a little.

Finally Jazz couldn’t contain it any longer and burst into laughter loud enough to wake up the nearby city of Portland. “Prowl?” he finally gasped out. “Prowl do this?”

Sideswipe waited patiently for the young officer to pull himself back together, a long suffering look on the poor red twin’s face. He was never going to get to recharge was he?

“Sides, I knew you and Prowl aren’t exactly the best of friends, but really,” Jazz chuckled again, holding his abdomen as though laughing so hard had caused it pain. “Him? Play a trick on you? Seriously, Siders, who was it?”

“What?” the red warrior tried to regain some sense of pride. “He has it in for me. Everyone knows that.”

“Yeah, but c’mon, man,” Jazz choked back another fit of giggles quite unbecoming of a distinguished officer in his station. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to short circuit something. “Prowl? Try again, Siders.”

“Sunny, back me up here. Don’t you think he’s capable of doing this?” He turned helplessly on his twin who had gone eerily silent.

“I think you’re one bolt shy of a go-kart,” Sunstreaker snorted staring at him in disgust. “And I also think you’re cleaning up all this crap on your own.”

“What? Half of it’s yours!” Why did he get stuck cleaning up after the lousy Datsun?

“Pfft, and ruin my paint job even more because you slagging got someone ticked? I think not.” He turned his back, preparing to return to… wherever he planned on going.

“And where do you intend on sleeping, Sunshine?” Sideswipe demanded, putting his hands on his hips. “I can’t lift the fragging bunk all by myself. So unless you wanna sleep on the floor…”

Sunstreaker paused, stiffening in obvious displeasure. “Don’t call me Sunshine,” he grated out. He knew his twin, stupid as he was, had a point. It was either risk his scratched paint further or ruin it entirely from sleeping on the filthy floor. Why oh why couldn’t he have been sparked all by his lonesome? He didn’t have to have a twin, did he?

“Well, fuzzy as this is, I gotta get goin’,” the Special Ops officer said, his duty done for the day. He’d gotten his kicks and helped out two friends in need. “I’m late for a concert me and Blaster are supposed to go to. You two be good.”

The two Lamborghinis only glared at each other, ignoring him entirely. Shrugging to himself, Jazz made his exit, still grinning from audio to audio. Honestly, Prowl…? Blaster would get a kick out of this when he told him.

“If,” Sunstreaker jabbed a golden finger at his brother’s face, “you ever drag me into one of your stupid escapades again, I will not be held responsible for my actions.”

“You have such a way with words,” Sideswipe quipped back, unphased. When did a conversation with his brother ever end without a death threat of some kind? “Ever think of writing poetry?”

“Your rusted skidplate is red,” Sunstreaker hissed, trudging next to Sideswipe as they headed toward their wayward possessions. “You have the brain of a Subaru. You’re starting to slag me off. So f…”

“Ok, enough poetry. Get your aft over here and help me lift the bunk.”

So that cheat liked moving stuff around, huh?

OoOoOo

“Prime, Ah’m tellin’ yeh, they ain’t there,” Ironhide insisted for the umpteenth time. He had to lengthen his stride to keep up with the much larger mech as he trailed after him.

“What do you mean they’re not there?” the Commander asked, slowing down so Ironhide could keep up.

“Exactly what Ah’m sayin’. Every last one o’ them are gone.”

Prowl looked up from his consul hearing the bots enter the room. Ironhide had a look of absolute puzzlement on his face while Optimus looked ready to bang his head against a wall. Not that he would, of course. “Is there something I can assist in?” he offered helpfully.

“Th’ spare parts in th’ arsenal are missin’,” Ironhide explained in frustration. “An’ Sparkplug says his tools are gone too.”

“Hey,” Ratchet interrupted as he and Wheeljack walked in too. “Anyone see my spare med kit?”

“And my newest space spy prototype,” Wheeljack added in.

“Hey, all the furniture in the lounge is gone,” Bumblebee poked his head in between the medic and mechanic.

Red Alert, who had been listening to the growing list of missing items, swiveled around to cast a critical eye on the assembled bots. “All missing, you say?” he inquired, optics narrowing.

“Yeah, it’s th’ darndest thing,” Ironhide nodded.

“Then there is no other conclusion to draw,” the security chief turning his optics to his Commander. “Prime, it’s like I’ve been saying all along. And now our spy has shown his true colors.”

“I doubt a spy would steal furniture,” Optimus shook his head, taking the red bot’s paranoia in stride. “It appears that nothing crucial was taken, but we need those things back as soon as possible. Ironhide, grab a few bots and see what you can turn up.”

“Already on it, Prime,” Ironhide nodded. “Ah’ll bet it’s some punk’s idea of a good joke, though.”

I’ll put money on the punk’s name being Sideswipe, Prowl mentally added. It didn’t seem to make sense though. If it was Sideswipe and not one of his little apprentices, like the impressionable Bluestreak or Streetwise, what did he hope to accomplish? As far as Prowl knew, he wasn’t missing anything. Nothing important was gone, which at least stayed in accordance with the danger rule. The Datsun wasn’t even being inconvenienced by looking for the missing things.

He would be sorely disappointed if this was Sideswipe’s idea of a good prank.

Mentally shrugging it off, he returned to work now that the excitement had died down. It was probably a false alarm. Perhaps the red Lamborghini had gotten tired of having only one victim for so long and wanted to create mischief elsewhere. He had the attention span of a Seeker, and rarely focused on one person alone.

That suited him fine, because once the red demon spawn was caught in the act, it would give Prowl the opportunity to make his life just a little bit harder. That always made for a productive and satisfying day as well as a nicely polished floor.

The afternoon passed with little fanfare. Not a stir from Decepticons all day, and the troops generally behaved themselves. Ironhide had made it clear that anyone giving their superiors grief would be ‘nominated’ for the impromptu scavenger hunt. Thus far, he and his ‘volunteers’ hadn’t had any luck in finding the missing items, in fact all that got accomplished was a more complete list of stolen stuff. A rather impressive list when you thought about it, but nothing life-threatening.

Unless you asked Tracks about his missing canisters of polish, in which case it was a planetary crisis.

For his part, Prowl was getting quite a bit done. With no battles to manage and his usual miscreants laying low lest they get recruited for the search, he had more time to get work done than he knew what to do with. Whoever had hidden the items may very well receive a commendation if Prowl got much more of this wonderful treatment. He was feeling downright pampered.

Checking the security net again, he stood from his seat in the control room. He hadn’t counted on getting so much accomplished and needed to get a few more datapads from his room. The tactician strolled with an easy gait, a pleasant expression on his normally grave face. Yes, whoever had caused this afternoon’s confusion might very well receive a medal.

Palming open his door, Prowl suddenly found himself seriously reconsidering this notion. Perhaps he would just throw them to the Decepticons instead.

He swiftly shut his door, hoping to Primus that no one had seen what he had. Fortunately, there were no mechs wandering the officer quarters’ hallway at the moment. Glancing to his right and left for good measure, he opened the door again, wishing desperately that it had only been a trick of his optical sensors.

It wasn’t.

Well, he thought sardonically, at least he knew where all the missing things had wandered off to. Barricading the entrance up to his neck were piled the couches from the lounge. Sideways, mind you, and therefore unable to be easily taken out. All one had to do to remove them was turn them around. Of course, that was also assuming that there was room for them to be turned.

Which there wasn’t.

No, in actuality, there didn’t seem to be room for much of anything to be moved, let alone three Autobot-sized couches. Every missing item, from the boxes of spare artillery to a few of Ratchet’s operating tables were piled quite nicely in his room. Wheeljack’s spy probe sat proudly on the top of the sea of stuff like sentry. One couldn’t even see the floor or indeed any of Prowl’s furniture from all the things Sideswipe had stolen.

In fact, the only thing he could really make out was a red streak of paint smeared on the opposite wall. It was still wet as evidenced by the trickles of paint that dribbled down and onto his few visible belongings.

His door panels wilted as his battle computer ran idea after idea, hoping to find a solution to this predicament. All the poor computer could give him was an unsolvable paradox. He couldn’t move the couches until he removed the junk, but he couldn’t even enter his quarters without moving the couches, let alone take away the stolen items. How the red spawn of the Unmaker had even done it was beyond his comprehension. For all he knew, the Lamborghini hellion was buried there somewhere beneath the piles of stolen property.

This brought about another problem. He couldn’t get this solved on his own, that much was obvious, but he also couldn’t ask for aid from any of the others. That would lead to many uncomfortable questions, questions he did not feel up to answering. In Jazz’s case, it would probably cause a complete CPU meltdown.

He didn’t even want to fathom Red Alert’s reaction if he knew his Vice Commander had all the stolen goods tucked safely in his quarters.

Sideswipe was a dead mech. The moment he went off-duty, Prowl needed to take a drive. He could figure out his problem later that evening when fewer bots were about to ask unanswerable questions. This called for supplies and wits, and wits he already had in abundance.

OoOoOo

“Look, Sunny, give it a rest will you?” Sideswipe grumbled, wiping his face with an ebony hand. Below him, on his own bunk, his brother was in the middle of a very impressive bout of complaining that showed no signs of stopping.

“Give it a rest?! Sideswipe do you have any idea…”

“It’s been a whole slagging day, you giant dandelion.” All he wanted was to get some recharge in before the next morning, but it seemed Primus wasn’t through punishing him just yet.

“A day spent in absolute second-rate condition because you had to go and do something stupid!”

The red Lamborghini didn’t even try to argue his brother’s point any longer. He’d had to put up with ol’ Sunshine’s whining the entire previous evening, all of today, and it looked like it would be his lullaby once again. He never thought he’d be so glad to see a Monday morning. Being Sunday, the body shop in town hadn’t been open today so their favorite customer was unable to come fix the damage done to his beautiful self from moving all of their things back into the Ark. One would think the whole fragging universe was coming to an end.

“Goodnight, Sunshine,” Sideswipe mumbled, rolling over and getting ready to shut down his audios to the non-stop bitching. Much more of this and he would bury his piledrivers into his brother’s face.

“Frag you, you red pansy! I swear to Primus that one more of your stupid jokes that I get dragged into will mark the day I deactivate you permanently.”

“Who would you annoy with me gone?” He knew he probably shouldn’t be baiting him, but at this point he didn’t care.

Whatever Sunstreaker snarled in reply he blocked out as his audios shut down and he fled to the sanctuary of recharge-land. He reprogrammed his communicator to a vibrating setting that would wake him without the need of his hearing.

Sunstreaker scowled at the underside of his twin’s bunk when he finally realized he was being firmly ignored. One more stupid diversion, he swore. Just one. That’s all it would take before he finally gave in and dismantled that sorry excuse for a Lambo. With this thought in mind, he rolled over and drifted off to sleep, sweeping his optics over his room one last time to make sure everything was where it should be.

About 3 hours past midnight, a frantic vibrating dragged Sideswipe back into the waking world. Turning his audios back on, he tapped the communicator in answer.

“I repeat,” Prowl’s curt voice snapped him fully awake. “The Eastern side of the mountain is under attack..”

Oh sweet Primus, this is what he’d been waiting for all week! He had been seriously missing the Decepticons and was just short of begging them to cause trouble. All this pent up energy was finally going to have an outlet!

Leaping down from his bunk, Sideswipe summoned his entire arsenal from subspace unable to contain his glee. He briefly considered waking his brother to join in the fun even though Prowl had not called for him. He shook his head erasing the thought. The Buttercup from the Great Abyss could just sleep the slagging night away and miss the excitement. It would serve him right for Sideswipe to get all the glory this time.

Upon exiting the Ark, Sideswipe immediately transformed so he could reach the battle faster. However, the eastern sector of the mountain, much like the northern, southern, and western, was as silent as a crypt. Not even a lousy cassette to kick around. What was going on? Where was all the aft to be kicked? Not only were there no ‘Cons, but the rest of the back-up never made it outside to join him. Not only that, but there was no original group to slagging back up!

He smacked his forehead with a hand and hissed a curse worthy of Ratchet at his worst. Prowl must have had fun watching him run around like a mad-mech. Couldn’t Prowl just cancel Christmas too while he was at it and finish poor Sideswipe off? Trudging back to the Ark entrance with his beloved gun dragging behind him, the red Lamborghini looked like someone had kicked his petro-puppy.

As he passed a security camera, he made sure to give it the middle finger as he knew that his Vice was most likely watching most happily.

Though he could never know this, he was absolutely right. Prowl was watching, optics shining in delight. Having convinced (a.k.a. bribed) Windcharger to help him remove the stolen items using his unique gifts, the Datsun still had some time to kill before his evening shift ended. Fortunately for him, he’d had time in-between shifts to prepare everything perfectly. Just as he counted on, no one was questioning him. He was Prowl, not Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Jazz, or Bluestreak. Anything Prowl did had a perfectly good, professional explanation. Even what would ensue this evening he could give a complete and logical justification.

Primus, this was almost too easy.

His small smile grew larger as the cranky melee warrior found himself effectively locked out.

It almost didn’t seem fair.

Sideswipe, in a fit of sudden fury that would startle even his other half, stormed back to the security camera. The words that came flowing from his mouth would make Ratchet’s paint peel, but Prowl took it all in stride. One didn’t deal with the twin rays of delight for a few million years and not learn anything.

“…I suppose you think this is funny!” Sideswipe was in the middle of screaming, great scarlet shoulders heaving and piledrivers locked into place. “I bet you think this is fragging hilarious, don’t you you cheating slag sucker!”

“But of course,” Prowl replied, though only he heard it. Ah well, Sideswipe wouldn’t have liked to hear it anyway. 

“You cheat! You got the Dinobots to help you! It’s against the fragging rules!”

“It was not cheating. I enlisted the direct aid of the Dinobots before the contract was signed, my little friend.”

“You immature pile of slag, when I get my hands on you, my piledrivers are going straight down your…”

Prowl shut off the audio on the monitors, afraid his poor audio receivers would short out. Immature was he? Engine purring like a kitten, he reached over and pressed one last button.

Fire.

Sideswipe, now entirely too tired and grouchy to think straight, whirled around at the sound of something powering up. What the…

He leapt out of the way just as the Ark’s main defense gun went off, creating a large crater where he was standing. Had Prowl lost his mind?! This was only slightly against the ‘danger’ rule. If Sideswipe survived this, Ratchet would have to put their Vice Commander back together with tweezers and superglue.

In his mental visualization of committing Datsun-cide, he forgot to pay attention to the very large and very loaded guns. Suddenly he was seeing stars from a laying position, wondering how in the world he had ended up there.

Then he wondered why he wasn’t looking into the face of Primus instead.

Raising his head to look down to his chest, he was startled to discover not a giant hole, but a giant green spot. Another shot was fired and he rolled to the side just in time for a yellow sphere to come crashing down. He wasn’t going to die after all. 

Prowl had set up half the guns with large Transformer-sized paintballs, leaving the other half fully loaded in case of an attack. But each gun that he’d loaded were now all fixed on his position, moving with him.

Sideswipe, in either sheer bravery or stupidity, refused to retreat. He would not give Prowl the satisfaction of seeing him run away from a slagging paintball during a prank war. It was not dignified and it was not his style. This was all well and good, for had he tried to run, he would have been sorely upset to discover that Prowl had ‘borrowed’ a force field generator from Trailbreaker that had mysteriously gone missing during that day’s raid. He was trapped and forced to dodge the projectiles unless he wanted to look like some bizarre new form of modern art.

Prowl watched this insane dance for a megacycle or so, sipping a mug of energon as he did so. Now and then Sideswipe’s sleep deprivation would kick in and make him falter. This resulted in a nice large paint splatter to add to his once crimson and ebony body. And each time this happened, he had no doubt some new curse word would spew forth from the cherub’s mouth.

Eventually the red troublemaker gave up all chances of dignity and ran for it, hoping to get out of range. It was then that he finally discovered the force field erected by the tactician and no amount of clawing at it like a wild animal would change a thing.

When they found him the next morning, it was hard at first to tell who or what he was. Sprawled on his face, in every imaginable color, all Sideswipe could do was grunt when his brother finally poked him with a stick.

What a way to start one’s day off.


	4. She Thinks Our Datsun's Sexy

Now Sideswipe was no Sunstreaker. He loved a good roll in the mud like any other bot. But he had to admit that being covered from head to foot in every color there was, and even some that weren’t, did not make him feel all that great. In fact, he felt just about as cranky as he could possibly get, and the slight bounce in his Vice’s step did not help matters any.

Actually, the only positive thing he could think was how desperately and truly thankful he was that he hadn’t woken up his brother. A paint-splattered and dented Sunstreaker meant a very dead carcass for the person responsible. Not even brotherly love would have been able to spare Sideswipe’s life after that.

While the obvious majority of the Ark were less than secretive about their approval of the anonymous culprit’s prank, Optimus did have to admit that this was something he just could not overlook. Sideswipe hadn’t been in any real danger last night since he was protected from Decepticons by Trailbreaker’s forcefield, still functional guns, and being within easy communication range. Nonetheless, Prime knew that something might have happened and as Commander he had to do something.

Even if, deep inside that professional spark of his, he felt the red Lamborghini had had it coming for millennia.

Beyond all reason, however, Sideswipe was not being very helpful in the matter.

“You mean to say,” Optimus asked in the privacy of his office, “that you have no idea who did this?”

“I mean to say,” the multi-hued Sideswipe replied for what felt like the thousandth time, “that I never saw my attacker, no.” Primus, it was hard being so damn truthful sometimes. If he said who it was, he was sunk. He would not lose this thing! He would not be forced to be a perfect little angel for a whole fragging month!

Prime knew a twisted answer when he heard one and wondered why in the galaxy Sideswipe would want to protect the perpetrator when it was obvious the young soldier was itching to put his piledrivers into something. “I will notify Prowl and have him try to find the culprit.”

“Prime, can’t we just forget it?” Sideswipe grumbled. “For all I know, it was Prowl who did it.”

A crinkle at the edge of his Commander’s optical sensors told him that beneath that faceplate a smile was threatening to break out. “Come now, Sideswipe,” Optimus chided gently. “I know you are upset about this, but honestly…”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” the red warrior answered, feeling very tired. He’d heard it from Jazz, Blaster, and anyone else who had heard about his little accusation the other night. He was beginning to think there was a parrot flying around. “ ‘It’s Prowl. He wouldn’t do something like that.’ ”

“Well, if you’d prefer that I not go to Prowl with this anyway, I’ll have to comply. No one was injured last evening. But let the records show that if anything like that happens again, I’ll be forced to take more aggressive action. You may think that this is one giant playground, but I am running a military base of operations here. You must learn to control your more… rebellious behavior. Is that clear?”

What? Was Optimus actually lecturing him on what that slagging tactician did to him? Sweet Primus, the whole universe was out to get him!

Choking back a really good curse, all Sideswipe could do was nod his understanding. Upon exiting the Commander’s office, he released some of the tension in his body, forcing himself to relax. He would find himself on ‘Daddy’s’ hit-list very quickly if he snapped and throttled some poor soul to death.

“Sideswipe, do you have a moment?” asked the voice he most didn’t want to hear at the moment. The mech that voice belonged to had been waiting right outside the office to ambush him once he left.

Then again, Ratchet couldn’t kill what he couldn’t catch so perhaps the risk was worth it…

“Sure, Prowl,” he growled in a low tone, wishing only to be left alone for one slagging cycle to get himself to the wash-rack. It was his day off for Primus’ sake; you’d think a bot could have a moment to himself. Apparently that was not the case.

Following the black and white Datsun to his office, Sideswipe wondered as to the nature of this summons. It wasn’t like Prowl to gloat, but then again, he didn’t think it was like Prowl to initiate a prank war either. He scratched absently at a large blue spot on his shoulder where the dried flakes were making him itch.

“I feel that we are becoming too obvious,” the tactician began as soon as the door shut. He had work to do, but before the disgruntled Lambo could think of retaliation this needed to be said. “We must be a bit more discreet or we will be discovered.”

“What’s this ‘we,’ Kemosabe?” Sideswipe demanded, sapphire optics growing wide. “Who was the Pit slagger who locked me outside at the mercy of the elements?”

“You were in no danger,” Prowl frowned, crossing his arms. “I made sure of that.”

“You broke the rules anyway and that means I win,” the multi-colored warrior went on in a huff. “You got the direct aid of the Dinobots.”

His opponent shook his head, a ghost of a smile gracing his features. “I did, but that was megacycles before we signed the contract.”

Fragging technicality…

“You ordered me outside!” Ha! He couldn’t worm his way out of that one! He had to do what his Vice Commander said and he was told to go out.

“If there was a battle, the main alarms would have gone off and woken everyone,” Prowl countered logically. “The entire base would be on alert. Surely you know that. No usage of rank was performed. You merely replied to a call and it wouldn’t have mattered if I had been Prime or Huffer. You would have gone regardless.”

Clenching his fists and narrowing his optics, Sideswipe couldn’t think of any way to retaliate against that. It was true, he should have known better to respond to an unusual call, even in a half-asleep daze. And yes, even if Red Alert had been babbling about an attack, Sideswipe would have gone if only for the slim chance of kicking aft. One just couldn’t use logic against this mech!

Meanwhile, Prowl was appraising his rival’s reaction. Good. While Sideswipe was out of steam for the moment, he was not yet defeated. This was proving to be a strong challenge, one that the tactician was enjoying much more than he thought he would. The red Pit-Spawn had yet to rue the day he messed with him. And that one month of perfect behavior from their most notorious prankster was looking quite good.

To his curiosity, the irritated gloom of the warrior in front of him disappeared. Sideswipe stood a bit taller and lifted his once-ebony head in defiance, optics glittering. The kid had spunk and could bounce back from anything. But what could be going on in that head of his?

“More discreet then?”

“I believe it is the wisest course of action for the time being.” Would he regret this? Why was the demon child smiling like that?

“Alrighty, that’s fair. Can I go now? This stuff itches like you wouldn’t believe.” He shifted his shoulders again uncomfortably, causing flakes of blue, pink, green, and yellow to come floating down like over-sized confetti to his superior’s floor.

Unable and unwilling to keep the Lambo any longer than necessary, he nodded. “You are dismissed.”

OoOoOo

Discreet his aft… Sideswipe would show him discreet…

After a nice rendezvous with the wash-rack that is.

About 10 cycles later, a shinier, much happier Sideswipe sat down at one of the consoles in a normally unused part of the Ark. This would be so much easier if he could do this in the privacy of his quarters, but pranksters could rarely be picky. He had to take the opportunity where he found it. Typing up a few commands, he smiled his fox-like grin, optics twinkling merrily. Jazz wasn’t the only one who could sabotage on base.

A list of options came up on the screen once he was into the mainframe, causing him to pause. Should he only do a few or the whole list? Considering his assets, he shrugged and checked as many as he could. Only proper options, mind you. After all, he was an Autobot and could do naught but his duty.

If getting caught wouldn’t get him a million years in the brig with toothbrush detail for good behavior, he figured this might earn him a medal of sorts. A shiny one. With a nice red ribbon to match his coloring.

He waited until the confirmations were sent back; assuring him that he had done his job properly.

Ok, Prowl, is this discreet enough for you?

Knowing that he wasn’t designated the Ark’s head hacker for a reason, he quickly shut down the computer before he could be caught. Brig floors tended to scuff something awful after a few weeks.

“Hey, Sides!” The call made his spark lodge itself in his throat as it came directly behind him. Only his brother could creep up on him like that.

“What the slag do you want?” he demanded, trying to force his spark back down where it belonged. It beat frantically as though demanding out of his body, but eventually it did calm itself.

Sunstreaker grinned nastily, pleased that he had given his twin a good scare. Ah the little things that made one’s day complete… Ever since he’d discovered Sideswipe face down that morning covered in paint, he’d found it in himself to forgive any wrongdoings against him. The red warrior had been sufficiently paid back for his ruining of Sunny’s paintjob. “Whatcha doing?”

“Trying to keep myself from shooting you, why?”

“I just got off monitor duty and I’m in the mood for a drive. You up for it?”

Well he did have some extra energy to burn off. “Sure,” the red twin stood up and followed his brother down the hall. Passing Prowl in the hallway as the tactician retrieved a mug of energon, he lifted his head higher in defiance. If his brother thought this was odd, he didn’t say so.

Once they were out the door they revved their engines ready to race off into the horizon. Other Autobots who were outside immediately leapt to the side so as not to become a giant smear in the pavement. Which was all fine by the brothers, of course, as this act only gave them less speed bumps to worry about.

From an unseen and unheard signal, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker peeled out, both feeling the need to let loose after a series of rather odd days.

For 2 ½ blissful hours, the pair had a fantastic time racing each other and generally acting like big 3-ton kids. And all the while, Sideswipe couldn’t help but wonder at Prowl’s expression when he learned of the red Lambo’s escapade. For his expression was all that he was after today.

All good things, however, must come to an end. Unfortunately this was to come to a very sharp and very painful end.

Racing each other across the countryside, the twins eventually made it to the city. The speed may have decreased somewhat, but that didn’t diminish the thrill of it. Maneuvering around humans, vehicles, and stationary objects, they whooped and hollered at each other, pushing their skills to the limits.

As they rounded a corner, a child’s bouncy ball entered their paths, the toddler following after. Now the twins were vicious on and off the field. Had even been known for scrapping their own side on occasion. But both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe be damned if they struck a human sparkling. Veering harshly to the side, Sunstreaker ran into his brother who rolled over a fire hydrant.

The little boy, completely oblivious to what he’d caused, picked up the wayward toy and skipped back to his yard.

“Where,” groaned Sunstreaker, “are that kid’s parents?” Sideswipe, on the bottom of the two-car pile up, only moaned painfully.

The parents, it turned out, had seen the whole thing, how those two great menaces had nearly run down their sweet little child. And they made sure the police knew all about it too.

Two hours later found the pair inside one of the larger cells of the local police station. This cell had actually been designed with the two Autobot warriors in mind, as they were notorious to both robots and humans alike. Therefore, there was absolutely no way to escape before dear Prowl came to release them.

Sideswipe pouted in the corner as he contemplated his Vice’s imminent arrival. And he’d been feeling so nice after hacking into that computer too. But to have his victim come to his rescue… As Mirage might put it, it was not the most dignified position to be in. He couldn’t even bother to be entertained by his wailing brother, so miserable was the red Lambo feeling.

Sunstreaker was feeling just as miserable, but for much different reasons. Never one to keep quiet about the woes of his life, the yellow twin yelled to anyone who might listen about how dented he was because of the ‘miniature flesh bag,’ and just how uncomfortable having a fire hydrant up one’s skidplate really was, and why were they locking him up when he deserved a fragging medal.

With more explicatives of course.

Not that this bellowing accomplished anything besides tiring him out that much faster. By the time a very bemused Prowl arrived, Sunny had joined his twin brother in sullen, silent pout-mode.

Well, Prowl had to admit as they were released, at least they weren’t in tantrum-mode. With the pair standing behind him, both looking quite sour at the entire world in general, he signed the last of the routine release forms. Being the commanding officer of this twin bundle of sunshine and roses, he was well versed in the legal procedure, and thus made it go much faster than it would otherwise.

“Oh!” exclaimed a surprised voice by his left foot. “You’re the Autobot Prowl?” It was a young woman, probably no more than 5 years Spike’s senior. At her side was another human female around the same age.

But what did Sideswipe know about the aging process of humans? He was lucky he could tell the gender of the silly little things.

Either way, both human females, somewhere between the ages of 15 and 50, got over their initial surprise and positively beamed.

“We just received the news,” the first human said to Prowl. “It’s absolutely wonderful! Thank you so much!”

The tactician said nothing at first, just staring at her in the hopes that he would soon understand what she was talking about.

Not seeming to notice that the object of her attention wasn’t quite following, the second lady went on. “We were just on our way to tell the papers!”

Ok… still not making sense.

“It was nothing,” he humbly said, figuring it was the right response.

“Nothing he says!” exclaimed the second woman. “You just gave two billion dollars to our charity organization and a dozen others and you say it’s nothing? Don’t be so modest!”

Sideswipe watched carefully with anticipation, trying to bite back a triumphant grin. Meanwhile, the Datsun struggled to make sense of the situation.

Two billion dollars?

As in two?

With nine zeros?

As in nearly all of his personal savings from the past two million years not counting the time spent in stasis in the Ark?

Those two billion?

Oh sweet Primus.

Forcing a smile onto his face, Prowl gave a women his most charming smile. “It was the least I could do,” he answered her, mind quickly catching up to what was happening. Alright, he’d just lost two billion dollars to some charities he’d never even heard of. He could deal with that.

A little meditative music.

A little Lambo throttling.

Sure, no problem.

But first things first. To make the best of a very awkward situation. After all, Sideswipe was probably out for a reaction. So a reaction he must give.

Sideswipe watched, mouth agape, as his Vice not only kept his unfailing cool, but continued on to melt the charity girls, somewhere between the ages of 15 and 50, into puddles of fleshling, feminine goo. Going on about worthy, admirable causes and doing what he could to further their upstanding work, Prowl charmed them like Jazz never could.

It made him sick, and not a little nervous.

This was backfiring in disastrous proportions and very soon it would be out of control. Way to think ahead, Sides.

Eventually, the tactician managed to worm his way out of the ladies’ grasps. Giving the scarlet culprit a pointed glance, Prowl led the pair, a very confused if apathetic yellow Lambo included, outside to freedom. He may have been mistaken, but Sideswipe thought he might have heard a fond farewell from a policewoman or two on the way out.

His day was only to get more and more surreal as news quickly spread of the generous Vice Commander of the Autobots. Therefore, in a trip home that should have taken 45 minutes tops, nearly two hours was spent doing PR work with oh-so-grateful organizations who passed their way.

Well those were five hours of his life he was never getting back.

Yet as steamed as poor Sideswipe was getting at what should have been a very amusing loss of self-control, he was even more confused.

Here was a mech, to be fair a decent-looking mech, with absolutely no personality to speak of. Nada. Nothing there either by choice or programming. On the off chance Prowl did decide to have more expression than a brick wall, it was to make the lives of poor free-spirits, Sideswipe to name an example, a living Inferno.

And yet, when he spoke, people listened. When he moved, people watched. And when he gave that stupid shy smile of his, femmes were hooked. It was creepy! It made no sense! Decepticon, Autobot, Neutral… didn’t matter what kind of femme it was. And fleshling too apparently.

In Sideswipe’s humble opinion, Prowl had all the sex appeal of one of Ratchet’s arc welders. But hey, what did he know?

And he wasn’t the only one who felt slighted.

Sunstreaker, even more bewildered than his twin as he didn’t even know the back story to this, struggled valiantly for the same kind of attention. Sideswipe knew that if his twin didn’t get some sort of recognition, deserved or not, he would be in an even fouler mood. Prowl too seemed to realize the possible danger this posed and allowed the Lambo to try his luck with the humans.

Not that it worked, of course. Everyone was far too interested in their superior officer to bother with two gorgeous brothers like themselves.

Sideswipe was having a barrel of fun, honestly, however he really just wanted to go home and face whatever punishment awaited him. As his other half was grumbling unhappily beside him, Sides would bet that he wasn’t alone.

“Prowl,” he tried in a respectful tone, hoping that it might impress the Vice enough to release him. “Requesting permission to return home?”

The black and white bot turned and considered the red hellion for a moment. With a confident, self-assured smile that usually equaled the ‘stupid shy-smile’ as far as its effect on femmes went, he replied, “request denied.”

“Why not?” Sunstreaker demanded.

Then he uttered the three most damning words he could think of. “Ask your brother.”

“Why not, Sides?” the large yellow warrior growled, turning on his twin. 

Sideswipe backed out of range and rounded on Prowl in turn. “Prowl, you can’t expect us to…”

“I expect you to reap what you sow, as the humans would say.”

“What are you talking about?” Sunstreaker asked. “Sides, what is he talking about?”

“Nothing at all, Sunstreaker,” Prowl smiled, following the rule of engagement that dictated he deny everything.

Primus curse that damned contract!

Seeing that his 2IC had returned to whatever conversation he was in with whatever fawning group of people that blocked their path, Sideswipe gave a sidelong look at his brother. Reading his mind, the yellow twin nodded curtly. As one they walked away, defying Prowl’s orders to stay.

If they were going to be punished for the rest of their natural lives, then by Primus, they were gong to deserve it.

Not feeling quite up to going home just yet, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker went for another quick drive. They had a hunch they wouldn’t be able to do so for a while after this.

They said nothing to each other, as there were no words to describe this afternoon. Between waking up covered in paint and dents, nearly flattening a dumb little human, getting locked up, needing rescuing by Prowl, having his prank totally backfire, and passed over for his personality-less Vice Commander, it wasn’t the best off-day of Sideswipe’s life. And he was pretty sure his brother had had better days as well. At least he still had some dignity left. He wasn’t defeated yet.

“Ugh, have you ever seen two uglier cars?”

Ok, well that just about did it for the dignity part.

The speaker’s companion, another female somewhere between the ages of 15 and 50, made a noise of agreement. “You can barely tell they’re even Lamborghinis anymore. They’re all dented and scratched.”

Sideswipe silently begged the red light to change. So far his vain idiot of a brother hadn’t said anything, but the slight vibrating of his battered frame told plenty. The safest for everyone at the moment was for that damned light to change so they could all go their separate merry ways.

And, ok, so Sideswipe didn’t appreciate being told he looked like slag either. Being constantly compared to his twin brother, for better or worse, did have its effects. One of them being Sideswipe tended to care what he looked like now and then. Unlike a certain Datsun he knew…

“Yeah,” he said outloud as the thought occurred to him. “Prowl doesn’t even try and the femmes all go for him. What gives?”

“Sides?” Sunstreaker asked, startled by the non sequitar.

“I mean, what is it?” he went on, both getting his frustration out of his system, and also distracting them from the still tsking human femmes. “He has no personality whatsoever; he’s a total hard-ass. And it’s not like he’s especially good looking.”

“Sides, let it go,” Sunstreaker sighed, not wanting to be reminded that his Vice had just become Mr. Popularity.

“No, I won’t let it go!”

And he didn’t either.

He didn’t let it go all the way to the Ark.

“It’s some freak anomaly I tell you,” the red melee warrior continued as they walked up to the entrance. “I mean, how does something like this happen?”

Sunstreaker didn’t even bother to pretend that he was paying attention anymore. His brother would continue to rant until he was done. It was just the way of things. Entering the Ark, he trudged sullenly toward the direction of the med-wing. Much as he really didn’t want to go face whatever abuse Ratchet decided to lay out for him, having a fire hydrant being forcibly rammed into one’s body did tend to have its structural effects. After a heavy dose of malpractice he planned to have a nice long rendezvous with the wash rack and then straight to his recharge berth. Today was just not worth experiencing anymore.

Following the despondent warrior like a puppy begging attention, Sideswipe continued to lay out the woes of his life, Prowl still the main subject.

“Come on, Sunny, what makes Prowl so sexy?”

Silence.

“Oh… slag,” Sideswipe breathed rounding the same corner his brother did.

‘Oh slag’ rounded it up quite nicely.

Oblivious to his surroundings, Sideswipe had totally forgotten that they were entering the main control room of the Ark. A very filled main control room of the Ark. A main control room that contained many bots as well as the command element, dear Prowl among them.

And every last one of them had heard him shouting that last little bit.

Now Sideswipe was a pretty unapologetic creature by nature. He was not one to be humiliated easily and nor would he take back something he had said or done. This being said, he had long ago figured out a way around his own code of integrity.

But Primus, this was awkward. He’d never had to deal with something like this before.

Even his brother was staring back at him with a pretty shell-shocked expression as he had obviously decided to tune back in at the wrong moment. As everyone tried to process what they had just heard, time seemed to have stopped entirely.

“Afternoon all!” Sideswipe mustered every last nut and bolt of his decimated dignity to put on this cheerful front. With these words, time seemed to catch up to itself. Much as the bots would have loved to make a bigger issue of it, those in attendance did have jobs to do. And even though Sideswipe did receive his fair share of abuse as he made his swift exit, the real ribbing would have to wait until later.

Sunstreaker walked next to him as they took the long way to the med-bay. There was no way in the Pit that either Lambo wanted to re-enter that room to get to Ratchet’s. There were just some things worse than a mangled exterior.

OoOoOo

Two megacycles later, a pair of healthier happier brothers exited the med-wing. To their amazement, Ratchet had not inflicted much abuse upon his favorite troublemakers. It might have been he had heard about the amusing incident on the bridge. Perhaps it was because he believed Sideswipe’s tale of getting beat up because they’d saved a child’s life, though the Lambo had neglected to mention that the child had been saved from them. Maybe ‘daddy’ still had a little bit of fluff left in him from the other day. Quite frankly, they didn’t care what the reason was. Life had already felt the need to screw them over today, so a non-murderous medic may have just been Primus’ way of saying He was sorry.

Then Sideswipe received a message from Prowl to meet him in his office.

Perhaps Primus just had a sick and twisted sense of humor.

When he heard about it, Sunstreaker just chuckled darkly and remarked just how much it sucked to be Sideswipe. His twin liked to think that it was just his special way of saying ‘good luck,’ but he couldn’t be sure. Either way he walked the walk of the doomed all the way to the Datsun’s office. He’d just had the worst day of his life, couldn’t Prowl just leave him be?

The Vice Commander was seated at his desk with calmly folded hands. If it weren’t for his highly swept door panels held taut as a bow, one might think he was entirely relaxed. But Sideswipe had known his superior long enough to know that his day had yet to go downhill.

He was right.

“Look, Prowl,” he tried to do some quick damage control. “Me and Sunny saved that kid, those police people don’t know what they’re talking about!”

The Datsun was not moved and when he spoke it was in a quiet, almost gentle tone. Prowl never yelled. Never screamed at wrongdoers, never lost his temper. When he was angry he got quiet. He got just as quiet as he was now. “That child wouldn’t have needed saving if you and your brother weren’t speeding at a hundred miles an hour through heavily populated neighborhoods. You might have killed him, Sideswipe. Imagine how that would affect our cause. We’ve tried so hard for years to win the humans’ acceptance and you could have destroyed all of that in less than a nanoclick. Do you honestly want to be known as the bot who killed a human child because you were acting like a sparkling?”

Sideswipe said nothing to this. There was nothing to say. He knew he was in the wrong and he knew that Prowl was far from done.

“The humans, in their gratitude for what we’ve done in the past, have been kind enough to leave this incident behind us. I will respect their wishes and after today it will not be spoken of again. But rest assured that if I hear of such behavior from either of you again, you will be very sorry. Is your assignment on Earth not to you liking? Would a monitor position on Salis III suit you better? I daresay you will have plenty of room for your immaturity there.”

Sitting around on some Primus-forsaken hunk of rock at the opposite end of the galaxy? Prowl wouldn’t dare waste his two best frontliners on that, would he? The look in his Vice’s frosty optics assured him that he would indeed if he felt it would be the best for his unit. He swiftly shook his head.

“Then we are in agreement. Which brings me to my other matter.” Prowl remained seated with his hands still folded. It was so damn irritating how so controlled he was all the time!

“While you no doubt meant nothing but humor at today’s… stunt with the charity organizations, may I remind you that stealing from a superior officer is a crime that goes hand in hand with sabotage and treason. Not only did you steal from me,” now Prowl stood up, body still tightly coiled as though to spring any moment, “but you hacked into the Ark’s mainframe to do it. Do you realize how long I have been saving that money, Sideswipe? Did you think of anything at all other than a cheap thrill at my expense?” Sapphire optics narrowed dangerously. “Do you have any idea what high command would do to you if they found out?”

Sideswipe backpedaled completely, holding up his hands to pacify the furious Autobot. “Woah now, Prowl,” he said quickly. “Wait just one nanoclick.”

“Why, pray tell, should I?” Prowl demanded. His ivory fingertips, which had lightly brushed the desktop, now curled into his palms as he made fists. Ooh, he was steamed!

“Cause I didn’t steal from you! I never touched a credit from your account, Prowl, I swear!” He offered a reassuring grin, though it felt weak under the tactician’s hard stare. “Check your balances, it’s all still there. I just put it into the charities under your name.”

“Then where did…”

“I knew people who owed me some favors,” the Lambo explained. At his superior’s skeptical look his smile tilted humorously. “I knew a lot of people who owed me some big favors.”

“That was very quick to call in so many favors,” Prowl commented dryly. At least he didn’t look so angry anymore. Oh he was still furious with the deception, but he didn’t look like he’d be using that acid-pellet gun any time soon.

“Yeah well…” Sideswipe rubbed the back of his head. “I didn’t exactly ask them. If it makes you feel any better about it,” he tried, “they weren’t exactly what you’d call upstanding citizens.”

Prowl doubted that anyone affiliated with the little red demon spawn could be considered an upstanding anything. Still his threatening stance did not waver.

“So you deceived your superior officer into believing that you stole from him?” he reassessed the situation. “And that is supposed to make it all better? That relieves you of guilt?”

“Hey, hold on for a…”

“You are dismissed, Sideswipe. Inform your brother of my words concerning the child. But I promise you that this little prank of yours will not go forgotten like your stunt this morning.” Hard lazuli optics narrowed into slits and dared Sideswipe to do anything but obey.

Choosing the better part of valor, the melee warrior did an about-face and left the office. He didn’t think he could get out of there fast enough.

Once the Lamborghini was out of the room and the door shut, Prowl let the smile he’d been holding in finally release. A few chuckles even made it past his lips. It had been so hard trying to do all that with a straight face. At least Sideswipe had taken his superior’s tense form and tight face to be a sign of anger rather than what it was. Yes he’d been annoyed at yet another stupid stunt performed by the gruesome twosome, but no one had been hurt besides the perpetrators. But he wasn’t about to reassign the pair because they were being dumb or he would have done that a millennia ago.

As far as the young one’s prank went, Prowl trusted each and every one of his Autobots. He would be unable to work with them if he didn’t. And he trusted the twins implicitly despite what anyone else might think. If Sideswipe was going to spend two billion dollars on a prank, Prowl knew without a doubt that it wouldn’t be his. Sideswipe was too good for that. Once he returned to the base after that morning’s adventure and checked his accounts to be sure, he knew that that trust hadn’t been misplaced.

He could tell he’d just scared a million years off Sideswipe’s life and before the end of the night he was shooting for another million more. That bot would be so paranoid of what punishment awaited him in the form of a furious Datsun that he would never know it was all part of Prowl’s own retaliation. If that little menace could skirt around the rules, then by Primus so could Prowl.

Still chortling to himself softly, he opened his computer to check if the President of Spain had answered his query yet. To his satisfaction he had, but there was one other glaring message waiting for him that he could not leave alone. Opening it, Prowl’s face went suddenly slack, all hints of humor gone.

“Dearest Prowl,

Thank you for the swimming pool! You are welcome to drop by anytime, and we’ll give you a tune-up free of charge!

xoxo

Your Playful Bunnies”

Prowl felt his door panels drop completely to his sides as he read and re-read the message. A pool? Sideswipe had given the Playboy Mansion a pool? No, his processor told him in frantic whispers. He’d given the Playboy Mansion a pool! And from the looks on the… er… ladies’ faces, they were quite appreciative as well.

Oh Primus…

That was it. That was just slagging it. Any hope Sideswipe might have had at seeing tomorrow with a fully intact mind was now shot to Hell. By the time Prowl was done with him, that little hellion would make Red Alert look as stable as Optimus Prime!

OoOoOo

“Are you sure?” Bumblebee asked skeptically.

“Yes, positive. Now please say yes!”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m on duty and the roster says that…”

“Look, Bumbles, I know we’re not the best of friends, but please please let me do this!”

“What are you planning?” The mini-bot was far from convinced.

“Planning? Me?” Sideswipe stared at the mini-bot in confusion.

“Planning. You. You’re up to something and you’re going to get me in trouble ‘cause it’s my shift. So what is it and how much brig time will it get me?” He had plans for his off-duty time too. That Lambo had better not be scheming anything.

“I swear to Primus I’m not planning anything,” the warrior held up his right hand and spoke quite seriously. “I just want some extra duty time in. That’s all.”

A little grin made its way to the spy’s mouth despite his greatest efforts. “Trying to earn a few extra brownie points, are we?” he asked. If Sideswipe was not plotting and he was acting like this, he must have gotten someone pretty mad at him. And if he was getting these brownie points by pulling extra weight on the rosters, then Bumblebee had a pretty good idea who Sideswipe was trying to pacify.

Not appreciating the little one’s knowing smirk, Sideswipe crossed his arms. “Fine then. I can just go find someone else who might want the extra time off. I was just trying to…”

“Woah, woah, I didn’t say no, did I?” Bumblebee stepped to the side of the communication lines so his impromptu replacement could take his place. “It’s all yours, Sideswipe. The shift runs till 0400, ok?”

“Fine.” Oh, what had he gotten himself into? He’d gone many days without proper sleep before, but he had been hoping on seeing his recharge berth sometime at a decent hour. It didn’t help that his own shift started at 0430 hours and lasted till 1630 hours. It probably wouldn’t hurt to take someone else’s shift from 1700 till 2400 as well just to be safe. All it would take was the mental image of a desolate hunk of rock lightyears away from any sort of action for him to find his motivation to do this.

Prowl liked hard workers, so let’s see just how hard Sideswipe could push himself.

Fortunately for him, there wasn’t much communication that night other than routine patrols reporting in nothing but all-clears and requesting entrance to the Ark. Gradually the monotony of the job, normally driving him to insanity, began to calm him down. By the time 2200 hours rolled around he had been on duty for a little over a megacycle and his processor wasn’t so convinced of his imminent deactivation. Stupid Prowl couldn’t take a joke. What had crawled up his tailpipe and died anyway? Besides, the prank had backfired in disastrous proportions, so what was he so mad about?

Sideswipe could almost convince himself that all this worrying was for nothing.

Then 2210 rolled around, and with it, the warrior’s favorite Datsun.

“Where is Bumblebee?” the tactician asked, looking as relaxed as ever as he approached Sideswipe’s console. No trace of anger was on him. Perhaps it really had all blown over. “Why isn’t he at his post?”

“I offered to take over his duty for the night,” Sideswipe offered in as cheerful and helpful a tone as he could produce. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Like recharging?” Prowl frowned disapprovingly. “Are you so intent on becoming useless during your own shift because you are restless now? I would have thought that our discussion would have had more of an impact on you. I see I was mistaken.”

Beside him in the next console, Trailbreaker hid a smile. Nothing against the red prankster, but it really was rather amusing to see him get put in his place by the Vice Commander. Very few could shoot down Sideswipe quite as effectively as their Second Officer.

What? Sideswipe was sure that Prowl would have appreciated his extra effort. What had he done wrong now?

“As Bumblebee is no doubt making good use of his sudden leave, which I did not authorize, you may patch this memo up to the Cybertronian Autobot War Academy for me.” He summoned a datapad from subspace and handed it over. “If you receive a response before the shift is over, notify me immediately.” With that done, he turned and walked away to… whatever he was up to lately.

Didn’t that Datsun ever recharge?

“Yes, Prowl,” Sideswipe sighed looking over the datapad. His optics went wide as he scanned its contents.

It was a request that the Academy contact the Ark when the next 10th Levels’ tournament was being held. Every few months or so the senior class of the Academy, the 10th Levels, would host a tournament for any squadron commander to come see. If a bot was hired out of the Academy because of a job well done, it was considered a great honor. Most of these bots were given better, more skilled jobs rather than the main cadet graduates.

But Commanders and their Vices only went to one of these tournaments if they were looking for a special kind of bot to help fill their ranks. When Sideswipe and his brother were in the Academy, there were many such tournaments held. Especially when Optimus’ Prime unit was first being put together. It’s how Prowl and Jazz were hired and, through the years, how the twins and so many others were hired as well.

If Prowl was sending this request in, it meant that he had a possible opening in the ranks.

It meant that it had Prime’s authorization.

It meant he was in some deep slag now.

Nevertheless he couldn’t disobey a direct order or he might as well start packing for Salis III now.

Sideswipe wrote up the memo and sent it along in scrambled coding for the school to receive. It didn’t say how many openings Prowl wanted filled, only that he wanted the information on the next tournament. Perhaps it wasn’t only Sideswipe who might be reassigned. Maybe Sunstreaker would come too. Prowl wouldn’t dare split them up, would he? No, of course he wouldn’t. He understood the twins to a certain extent, and he understood that where one brother went, the other would go too. If he got rid of Sideswipe, he’d have to lose Sunny too. Was Prowl so willing to make that sacrifice? Was what Sideswipe did so terrible that it was worth losing one of the Ark’s best frontline teams?

He couldn’t help but begin his worrying anew once the letter was sent. Rumors were starting to crop up too. He knew that news traveled quickly here, but so fast? By 2300 hours, people were starting to whisper to one another.

The red warrior tried to ignore Bluestreak and Hound muttering to each other half a room away. He couldn’t hear the words, but by Blue’s surprised look, it seemed the tracker had just given away some new gossip.

Was it about him?

Did they know anything new?

Did he honestly want to know if they knew anything new?

How much did they know?

Wait, why was Cliffjumper laughing to himself at his console?

Everywhere he could feel optics on him. Hear stage whispers too loud to be discreet and too soft to be understood.

If Sideswipe were human, he would have gone into a cold sweat in no time. His hands started shaking and his voice wavered more and more each time he answered the comm. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He, who had gotten himself out of every sort of tight spot known to mech and man alike. Why not just deactivate him and be done with it?

A golden hand clamped down on his shoulder just as the tenseness of the situation was about to break the smooth-talking Lamborghini. He barely bit back a cry of surprise as he recognized his brother’s presence behind him. Sunny! If anyone could make it all better it was his great psychopath of a twin!

“What’s up, bro?” he asked the golden warrior in a tight voice.

“Um… nothing.” Sunstreaker noticed his brother’s unusual behavior but decided not to comment just yet. “Just wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Oh nothing big,” Sideswipe gave a nervous sound that seemed almost like a giggle but not quite.

Had his brother lost his mind in the few short hours they were apart? And why on Cybertron was he pulling extra duty?

“So what’s the latest gossip?” Sideswipe asked as nonchalantly as possible, however it was obvious to anyone with audios and optics that he was desperate for some news. His left leg started vibrating under the counter

“What, you don’t know?” the other said matter-of-factly. “It’s all over the whole base.”

“Good news travels fast, huh?” The red warrior slumped down in his chair, deflating entirely. The tenseness was gone. “Is it definite?” He had to know. He just had to.

Shrugging as though he didn’t care either way, the yellow twin nodded. “All but official.”

So that was it then. His life as he knew it was over. But perhaps…

“And you’re going, right?” he perked up slightly. As long as he had Sunny, he could face whatever terrible place they sent him to.

To his shock, Sunstreaker sniggered. “Who, me? I don’t think so.”

“Why not? Are you serious? ! B-but you have to go!”

“Eh, we’ll see. Geez, don’t get your tailpipe in a knot,” Sunstreaker eyed his brother curiously. Why did this mean so much to him anyway? If he didn’t want to go, then he didn’t have to go. “Hey, I’m going to get some energon and head off to recharge. Want any?”

“No,” the red one grumbled, looking very much like a sparkling having a tantrum. An ugly scowl across his face and arms crossed, it was a wonder Sideswipe hadn’t reverted to full ‘pout-mode’ yet, though Sunstreaker could guess it wasn’t far off. But what his twin was actually moping about, only Primus knew.

Shrugging, the yellow brother left. He was firmly convinced the other had lost his damned mind. It sure had taken long enough to complete the process. The best thing for everyone was for Sideswipe to have his little temper tantrum and get it over with so life could go on as normal. 

Or as normal as things could get around this crazy-bin.

Muttering angrily to himself, the aforementioned loon checked the different frequencies again for any wayward messages. Every time one came in, his spark missed a beat. What if the Academy had responded already? What if there really was a tournament coming up, letting Prowl make his replacement? Yet every time, it was some other message, some other person. He took a deep breath and tried to relax as best as he could, the low whispers around him feeling like they were coming from inside his head rather than outside.

OoOoOo

Prowl finally took pity on the red warrior during the middle of his sentry duty the next day. Sideswipe was a nervous wreck, optics wide and supposedly alert, but his optics glazed over. A tight smile was frozen on his face and he walked with jerky movements, so unlike his usual graceful manner. If the 2IC had let it go on much longer he had no doubt Sideswipe would have been unable to take the strain. The result of this being the warrior would either go for his Vice or himself.

And Prowl did not feel like explaining why he had been attacked by an insane Lamborghini.

As he approached the melee fighter, he double checked his defense. No, he was sure, he had broken no rules. Skirted around them, definitely. Bent them, probably. The game was still on if Sideswipe was up for it. Of course, if the younger mech decided to forfeit…

Seeing Prowl coming up to him, Sideswipe immediately assumed the worst. This was it. He was a goner. Goodbye Earth, hello Hell.

“Sideswipe,” Prowl called him over gently away from his brother.

Giving a worried look at his brother, the red twin joined his Vice some distance away where they would not be overheard.

“So when do I leave?” he asked in a monotone, exhaustion finally overriding the paranoid adrenaline trip he’d been on all night and day.

“Leave? I do not understand,” Prowl responded in a surprised voice. “Why would you be going anywhere?”

“Cause you’re transferring me,” the Lambo responded, a surly expression on his handsome face. Why drag it out any longer?

“I assure you that you are not being transferred. Wherever did you get such an idea?”

Sideswipe narrowed his optics at the innocent look on the other’s face. “But you said…

“I said that if you did not attempt to reign in your careless ways, transfer was an option. But you are one of our best frontline warriors.”

“But…” the red warrior saw a glint of mischievousness in the black and white’s optics and knew he’d been had. “You… you…”

“You,” echoed Prowl, “assume far too much, Sideswipe. I told you your prank would not be forgotten. And it wasn’t.”

“What about the tournament?”

“Jazz suggested a while back that we obtain more espionage specialists. I was simply asking the Academy if they had any tournaments where we might come see possible new recruits.”

“And the rumors? Everyone whispering around how I was getting booted out?” Sideswipe stood to his full height, forgetting that Prowl was no more intimidated by him than by Bumblebee. “Slightly unprofessional, doncha think?”

“Once again, my friend, you simply assumed the whispering was about you.” He was a conceited little terror, wasn’t he? Thinking everything was about him. “Spike and Carly have just informed us that they set the date for their wedding. Naturally word traveled fast and that is what everyone was discussing.”

Suddenly it all clicked into place in Sideswipe’s mind. So all this time…

Seeing the knowing shine in his Vice’s optics, he knew without a doubt that he’d just spent the greater part of 24 megacycles looking like the biggest slagger this side of Cybertron. And it was all Prowl’s doing. He’d walked right into the trap of his own making and he’d walked into it with optics fully activated.

Well on the bright side, if there was one, when Sunny had been so nonchalant about ‘not going,’ he actually hadn’t been talking about his twin behind. He should have known that despite what he might say, Sunstreaker would never take their separation so lightly. If Sideswipe wasn’t worried about being murdered in his sleep, he might have even been tempted to hug him.

But first thing’s first. He had a score to settle and this time he wouldn’t mess it up. He stared defiantly at the serene tactician, showing he was not cowed or beaten.

Giving an acknowledging half-bow to his competitor, Prowl smiled gently. “The next move,” he purred, “is yours.”


	5. Let Sleeping Lambos Lie

Prowl did not expect any immediate retaliation from the young red terror. Currently, Sideswipe was sleeping the sleep of the dead in his quarters according to his brother. It seemed that pulling extra duty as well as his own, along with being entirely paranoid for the majority of that time, had drained him to the point of exhaustion.

Call the tactician sparkless, but he really wasn’t that sorry to hear it.

The day passed smoothly enough up until a large amount of the night shift was due to switch with the day. Blaster reported some Decepticon activity cropping up near the dam again. One of their routine energy-fetching missions no doubt. Couldn’t they ever cause some trouble at a convenient time for a change? The time between shifts was the most hectic for everyone, Prowl especially, as mechs wandered to and fro to wherever they needed to be. The Decepticons couldn’t have picked a better time to catch the Autobots off-guard if they’d planned it that way.

Sometimes the tactician suspected that they had planned it that way.

Showing some mercy to the overrun Sideswipe, Prowl allowed him to stay in recharge during this new excursion. He doubted the Lambo would mind sitting this one out. No doubt Sunstreaker would tell him all about it upon their return.

The battle had been harder then he’d thought it would be. Megatron had brought two gestalts with his fleet while Prime only brought Superion. The Protectobots were currently off on a relief mission in Indonesia and wouldn’t be back for a few days. A near record-breaking six megacycles long, the battle ended mostly by the participants just being too tired or too injured to continue.

By the time Prowl and the others returned to the Ark, he was nearly too exhausted to go through the normal debrief with Prime and the other officers. Promising to get the reports in by 1200 hours the next day, the tactician was dismissed at the meeting’s conclusion.

He couldn’t reach his recharge berth fast enough.

Three megacycles later, not feeling any more rested than before, the Vice Commander nevertheless rose to get ready for the next day. He couldn’t stay in his berth all day just because he was a little tired from the day before. Wars were not won by tacticians being lazy, after all.

Grabbing the datapads he needed for the day, thankfully no longer stuck to his table, Prowl went to his door. As he palmed it open, an odd thought occurred to him. He didn’t remember that scratch being there…

Oh well, he must have done it recently. It wasn’t as though he spent much time observing his doors anyway. Shrugging it off to faulty memory, he exited his room to make the rounds and then to his office to complete his reports. Hopefully everyone had done their part and written up at least something for him. He always did hate chasing his soldiers asking for reports when he had much better things to do with his time.

The day went smoothly, thank the Matrix. Most of those who had participated in the recent battle were either in medical or on duty and those who hadn’t were pulling extra weight to cover the injured. There was no time for anyone to be misbehaving, and that meant that Prowl could actually spend time working on his reports rather than delinquents.

Around 1300 hours, there came a knock at his office door. Sitting up straight from where he had been bent over for the majority of the morning, Prowl allowed them entrance. To his surprise it was Grapple who entered, muttering to himself. His bearing was strained and obvious frustration was making his expression look positively frightening. What could possibly have happened to him? Handing over his inventory report, the architect added, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get to your office lights today, Prowl.”

“What’s wrong?” the tactician asked curiously. It wasn’t the end of the world, but he had been hoping to have two of his overhead lights fixed by the evening.

“Oh, nothing major,” Grapple waved off, his expression showing that it was quite major to him. “A couple of bots can’t get back into their quarters. So that leaves me to sort out the locks! As if I didn’t have enough work besides. They deliberately chose the one day I had no free time to do it!”

“I’m sure that isn’t the case,” Prowl interjected gently. “Do you know what the problem is?”

The architect shook his head in frustration. “Their codes won’t work and the overrides don’t do slag either. I’ll have to disassemble the doors, it looks like, which will take hours!”

Well, at least it was only a few doors…

Once the time came for the duty shift, Prowl came to the unsettling realization that no, it was not only a few doors. Not one door in the personal quarters’ wing was working correctly. Not even Prowl’s.

This certainly begged the question ‘why,’ though as the day went on and no one could seem to explain nor solve this problem, Prowl figured he knew the cause at least.

Sideswipe wasn’t talking, and if his brother knew anything, he wasn’t either. According to the yellow Lamborghini, his brother had been in bed all day as he was simply too tired to do anything else. Prowl remained skeptical, though at the moment he could do nothing to prove Sunstreaker wrong. The cameras were no help and the monitors all said the red warrior hadn’t left his room during the battle.

Prowl would have to be stupid not to know how easy it was to fake all that. Sideswipe was much too good to be caught by simple scanners and cameras.

Sideswipe was clever, but was he clever enough to re-wire and reprogram every personal quarter’s door? The answer was a firm ‘no.’ Perhaps with unlimited time, the young hellion could have done it. But even though he had at most 7 or 8 hours, it was not enough for such a venture as that. It was just too difficult to hack into and then change all the codes, including the overrides. Why, it would just be easier to cut the wires entirely and then remove...

Wait a nanoclick…

Coming to a sudden thought, he rose to his feet and made his way to the bridge. Many of the displaced ‘bots were up there, having nowhere else to go but an overcrowded lounge area. Apparently going to the main control room was supposed to solve their problem in some way.

“Bluestreak,” he addressed the gunner sitting at the mainframe console. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Sure,” the younger Datsun said over the loud chatter filing the bridge. “What do you need, Prowl?”

“I need you to go into the database and download everyone’s room access codes onto this datapad. The access codes are on the first sheet.”

Giving him a curious look, the younger Datsun nevertheless did as told. And armed with his datapad, Prowl returned to his unopenable quarters. Unfortunately there was no one else who he could delegate this tedious task to. Aside from Optimus, only Prowl was privy to everyone’s private lock codes. Not even Jazz had the necessary clearance. A good thing too, in the Vice’s humble opinion. He loved Jazz immensely; he was the brother he’d never had. Yet he also wasn’t so blinded by affection as to trust this information to the other black and white and not expect rather… interesting effects. He knew his best friend better than that.

One by one he tried every ‘bot’s combination on the keypad. Proving his hypothesis correct, on the 26th 10-number-long combination, Brawn’s to be exact, the door opened with a merry hiss. Ahh… he thought so. The little rat…

“Grapple,” he spoke into his comlink. “Please come to my quarters. I have a solution to your door problem.”

If he was expecting gratitude, or even a better tempered architect, he was expecting a bit too much. Now that they knew it was the door itself and not the actual wiring, the entire thing had to be dismantled and taken down. Unable to actually perform this task, Prowl needed Grapple with him during all of this. And as Grapple was not allowed to undo the locks himself, Prowl had to be present and be subjected to the audio torture that was his disgruntled worker.

But if one needed the codes to open the doors and Prowl was the only one capable of obtaining those codes, how did Sideswipe manage it?

The more codes the two went through, the faster it went. At first, Prowl had thought the feat impossible for one lone mid-ranking warrior with no real technical skills. Yet at the rate they were going now, it was quite reasonable. Not something your average troublemaker could pull off, but to imps like Sideswipe, it was simply amateurish.

But what wasn’t amateur was how he had gotten those Primus-forsaken codes!

This was going to bother him all night, he could tell.

With all the doors finally undone, all that was left now was to put the doors back where they belonged, change the access codes (just in case Sideswipe did know them,) inform everyone of their new code, find out how the perpetrator did the deed, and then find some way to nail the red demon spawn on it.

A difficult task to be sure, but the reward far exceeded the cost in this case. Especially since half his day was now effectively shot to the Pit. Primus how he hated all-nighters. And if he could not get a restful night’s sleep, then neither would the rat that caused it.

“Red Alert,” he called into his comm. “I need a summary of all electrical activity from the past 12 hours.”

It was an odd request, just like the request for door codes from Bluestreak, but the security director did not question it. This was Prowl, not one of the troublemaking rabble that all too often haunted his days and nights. And if Prowl asked for something, there was a perfectly logical, well-founded reason for it.

It took him only a few moments on his keyboard, and the information was on display. “I’m looking at the summary now, Prowl,” he replied. “What are you looking for specifically?”

“A power outage in the residence wings of the ship.”

It didn’t take very long before the Security Chief was able to report back with his findings. “It appears there as a local power outage that lasted about four hours.” His tone grew suspicious, as Prowl thought it might. “Four hours of the battle earlier today. Prowl, this is a serious security threat! What if Laserbeak or Ravage were able to enter while were away? How did you know about the outage? Is something missing from your quarters? It’s important files, isn’t it? I’ll contact Prime right away, and have him lock down all available…”

“Red Alert, please,” Prowl interrupted before the red and white could short something out. “Nothing is missing and we saw both Ravage and Laserbeak at the battle.”

“Yes, but…”

“I have it taken care of. Thank you for your help. I believe it is merely a matter of crossed wires… And I know just the mech to help me fix it.”

OoOoOo

“You want me to what?”

Prowl stared at his victim with an even, unassuming, impassioned gaze. “I believe there is a series of faulty or crossed wires located behind these panels,” he handed over a datapad showing the electrical maps in question. “I need you to crawl into the vents below and check them for me.”

Sideswipe gave him a blank stare as though trying to decipher another language without his internal translator. “But… what about one of the minis? I’m one of the biggest mechs on base, you don’t really expect me to be able to…”

“Nonsense, it’s able to accommodate a mech of your size quite easily. All of the mini-bots are either restricted to quarters for rest or in the Med Bay. As you were the only mech remaining on base, out of all of us you remain the one with the most rest. Surely you wouldn’t mind helping for a few cycles?”

It was stated as a question, but they both knew it wasn’t. It was nothing less than an unofficial order for the Lambo to get his shiny aft over there now.

Without so much as a ‘yes, sir, right away, sir,’ Sideswipe was trudging down the halls looking as though he’d rather be sitting next to Ironhide and Red Alert through one of Perceptor’s briefings. Prowl was making this an order using rank, so this couldn’t be part of the prank.

So then what could the Datsun be up to?

OoOoOo

“GrumblegrumblemumbleProwlgrumbleslagginglittlemumble…” Two hours later Sideswipe emerged from that much too small space that could not hold anyone ‘quite easily,’ thank you very much. He would’ve left earlier, but even if both he and Prowl knew there was nothing wrong with the power circuits, for all intents and purposes they both knew nothing, and he had to continue with the charade.

All he wanted now was a long hot shower and a large cold mug of high grade. In that order. With nothing in-between.

By some sweet stroke of luck, the room was empty of all save himself. Good, he wanted as much time and space as possible.

The liquid felt wonderful as he deactivated his optics, letting it sift into every seam and crevice. Oh this was heavenly! Just what the crazy, grouchy, overworked doctor ordered. The temperature was right, he had all the time in the world…

And he was suddenly seeing yellow.

At first he thought it was a trick of his optics. Maybe a faulty wire or glitched circuit. Yet no matter how many times he tried to reboot his optics, all he could see was yellow. No shower, no hand in front of his face, nothing.

Just yellow.

Following an increasing sense of dread, he wiped his optics, hoping it wasn’t what it appeared to be.

And lo. It was.

“Aaargh! Primus fragging friggit!” He stumbled blearily out of the washracks, trying to shake and wipe off any excess paint. Not that it would do any good of course. He was quite effectively repainted a lovely shade of yellow.

And ooh lucky him, it dried quickly.

Sunstreaker found him later that day sulking on his bunk. A pretty little smirk made it to the intentionally yellow twin’s face as he surveyed the damage. So that explained why his brother wouldn’t leave their room… “You know, Sides…”

“Stuff it.”

“I mean, I always knew you wanted to be like me…”

“Slag off, Sunny.”

“Well it’s nothing to be ashamed of…”

“I’m warning you, Sunshine…”

“It kinda suits you.”

“One more word…”

“But if you ask me, I’d go just one shade lighter to bring out your…”

Sideswipe was a golden blur as he dived down onto his snickering brother. A brother that was nearly laughing too hard to defend himself. And who was still laughing as they stumbled their sorry beaten selves down to Medical.

Ratchet made sure to put a stop to that laughing right quick.

“Of all the idiotic… what in the name of Primus is wrong with you?” he growled taking in their battered forms as they trudged in. “You two are going to be the death of me! If it’s not the fragging Decepticons blowing holes in you, it’s you doing it for them! And why in the name of all things holy are you yellow?!”

Sunstreaker couldn’t help a snicker, though the black glare he received from the medic quickly shut him up again. Sideswipe, however, found nothing at all funny about the situation. “I don’t know why,” he grumbled unhappily.

“So you just suddenly appeared yellow, is that it?” Ratchet asked, crossing his arms. Primus he really did think he was his creator or something, didn’t he?

“No,” the formerly red hellion responded. “I was doing some work and then I went to the washracks…” He trailed off, knowing by the sudden glint in the CMO’s optics that the rest of the story was not necessary.

It first appeared as a choked cough, then a light chuckle. Soon enough it became an outright cackle of glee as the enormity of the situation made itself fully known.

“It’s not that funny!” Sideswipe cried indignantly.

“Hooo yes it is!” Ratchet practically shone with happiness. “I don’t know who did this to you, but I’d say they deserve a medal of honor.”

In response, Sideswipe looked increasingly grumpy. His brother just stood back, simply basking in the wonderful atmosphere this whole episode was creating. For him there was nothing better than his ignorant slothead of a twin taken down a notch. And it seemed Ratchet, who never once agreed with him on anything, was thinking the same thing.

“Nice to see some sympathy here, daddy,” Sideswipe snorted, looking for all the world like a petulant child.

“Aw pipe down,” the boxy red and white grinned. “I’ll even forgive you and your brother’s stupidity and your disrespect for this. You slagging made my week. Now lay down so I can get to work on your sorry chassis.”

Obediently laying down, the warrior was eager to get the repairs done as fast as possible. The sooner done the sooner he could raid Ratchet’s paint closet.

“Oh by the way,” Ratchet added as he worked on a dent in his bright yellow chestplate. “’Jack used the last of the paint supply on a project of his. So unless you have your own stash you’ll have to stay piss yellow for a while.”

Slag.


	6. Come Sail Away With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts: Sealand is totally a real place, you should look it up! Also, this chapter came 7 YEARS after the previous one. I had put it down and didn't pick it back up for quite a bit of time lol.

The number of days Prowl had allowed himself to recharge late could probably be counted on one hand. It wasn’t that he never wanted to; actually it was more tempting sometimes than the urge to ship the Lamborghini twins off to the furthest reaches of the known universe. Unfortunately for him, such temptations were both equally unattainable. The twins were needed to kill things and to test the structural integrity of his logic circuits. And he was needed to wake up early each and every day to prepare for a day of thwarting evil plans, Decepticon and local troublemakers alike.

Today, he’d decided, he was going to sleep in a whole extra hour. An hour and 15 minutes if he was feeling especially rebellious. That way he would only be two hours early for his shift. See, Jazz, he thought. He wasn’t always obsessed with work. It was a perfect day for it too. Sideswipe hadn’t been seen since his sudden color change, and the other usual culprits were all recovering from the particularly hard battle yesterday. Miracle workers though Ratchet and First Aid might be, it still took time to fully recover.

Unfortunately for Prowl, the universe rarely worked according to logic or one’s desires. It had conspired, yet again, to remind him why sleeping in was never a good idea.

[Red Alert to Prowl. Are you there?]

Prowl sighed and sat up, optics carefully scanning the room just in case. Sideswipe was begging to make him just as paranoid as the security director. [Prowl here.] he responsed.

[I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but you weren’t in your office.]

Prowl blinked. [My shift does not start for another two hours, Red Alert.]

[I’m aware of that, sir, but you weren’t in your office.]

Not quite understanding Red Alert’s own lack of understanding, Prowl nevertheless stood up, idly scanning the room for buckets of paint or nests of hornets or trip wires. [I see. And how may I help you?]

[There is a group of humans at the entrance. They say they are dignitaries from the country of…Sealand? Did you know about this, sir? I was not aware of any guests today.]

Prowl ducked to check under his berth for good measure. [Nor was I. Where are they now?]

[Outside. I didn’t want to let potential security threats in without your approval.]

Prowl doubted they were actual threats, but chose not to comment. [I will be there in a moment. Prowl out.]

Busy as he was as XO, Prowl had a stash of rations in his quarters for days such as this one where he would have no time to visit the dispenser in the lounge. He gave the liquid a tentative sniff and snip, just in case, before downing the cube and exiting the room.

The entourage of Sealand diplomats were waiting in a long black limo that sported a small flag of the nation. Prowl had run a quick search in his datatracks about the nation, or rather micronation, of Sealand, and his puzzlement only grew from there. It held a population of 27 and while not occupied by any other nation, it was also not recognized as a nation either. What in the world did the self-appointed Royal Family of Sealand want with the Autobots?

“I apologize for the wait,” he apologized as they exited the car to greet him. “We were not aware you would be coming.”

“We spoke with someone who invited us and assured us we would be received,” frowned the apparent leader of the group. “At any rate, is it alright that we’re here?”

Prowl mentally checked his day’s schedule. As long as they didn’t linger too long, there was time. “Yes, of course,” he assured them. “Is there anything in particular we can assist you with?”

“It might be a matter we should be seated for,” said the man. “I am His Royal Highness Prince James representing my father and liege Prince Regent Michael Bates, son of Prince Roy Bates and Princess Joan Bates of Sealand. We have come to petition for official recognition from the Autobots.”

The 10 people that made up the “royal” entourage, roughly 1/3 of the population, looked up at Prowl expectantly. There had to be a joke to be found here somewhere, but he was still too sore and tired to find it.

“I… agree that this is a matter to be discussed further,” he began graciously. “However, as we are not members of your planet, we are hardly able to…”

“But you are also a government in exile, aren’t you?” said a woman. Lady Something-Or-Other. “And as a representative government, it is in your power to recognize another government. Isn’t that so?”

Technically she was correct, in a sense, but Prowl doubted it worked like that. “Perhaps,” he said non-committedly. “Let us go inside and discuss this issue.”

He led them inside, wondering who he might be able to pass them onto. Legal issues was a specialty of his, but of his own species, and the city-states of Cybertron.

[Bumblebee.] he radioed the mini-bot.

A clearly newly woken Bumbleblee responded sleepily. [Yeah…?]

[I apologize for disturbing you on your day off, but I require your assistance as unofficial human ambassador.]

Tired and battle weary though he might be, the small yellow mech was always intrigued by the unique human issues that sometimes passed their way. As he was the one most comfortable working with humans and interacting with them, Bumblebee was the one often contacted when such issues came up. It helped that his smaller size made him easier to talk to by humans not accustomed to the more daunting height of the standard and large type builds of the main force.

Bumblebee promised to meet the 2IC shortly, provided he could escape the maternal clutches of First Aid who had kept him overnight for a mere surface burn. Prowl thanked him and offered to take the blame if Bumblebee were caught during the escape attempt. Right now he was his only hope for a fast and painless day.

While waiting for the mini-bot, Prowl sat the Sealandic group down in a conference room especially altered with human visitors in mind. They were able to be seated at an elevated height so that they might speak with their hosts eye to optic quite easily.

“I will only be a moment, Mr. Bates,” he reassured the group’s leader.

“Prince Royal James,” the man replied, slightly affronted at the commoner’s title, tough clearly used to such a gaffe.

“Yes… I apologize, Your Highness. I will return shortly with water for everyone, and I will ask my Commander to join us. Optimus Prime will be in a much better position to speak to your request than I.”

Prince Royal James nodded his assent and the Datsun left the conference room just as Bumblebee was walking in. Assured by the mini-bot that he would keep an optic on things, Prowl first headed to his Commander’s office. The Prime worked just as hard as Prowl did himself, and would no doubt be in.

He looked up once he allowed Prowl to enter the room. “Prowl,” he greeted. “I was hoping you would drop by. I need your assistance. I went by your office earlier, but you weren’t there.”

Prowl chose not to say anything to that.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I would like to ask for a moment of your time as well. We had some unexpected visitors this morning.”

“Visitors?” the Prime looked confused.

“Yes, sir. Diplomats from Sealand are here to…”

“Sealand?” he interrupted. “The micro-nation with 30 people?”

“27, sir. Yes.”

“What do they want? I wasn’t aware that we were receiving diplomats today.”

“It seems,” Prowl replied wryly. “They would like the Autobots to formally recognize them as a legitimate nation and set up diplomatic ties.”

There was a pause as Optimus struggled to understand the situation. “… Can we do that?”

“They seem to think so.” One of Prowl’s doorwings twitched. “Though I do not know if the other countries will do the same should we decide to follow through. And as we are currently here at the pleasure of the President of the United States, I thought to check with you first.”

Understanding slowly crept into the red and blue mech’s optics. “So that’s what he was talking about…”

Prowl did not understand. “Sir?”

“Sideswipe.” Oh that cursed name synonymous with endless paperwork and sleepless nights, and not in a way that was any sort of pleasurable.

He forced his face neutral. “Sideswipe, sir?” He should have known the devil spawn would be included somehow. Even hidden away in his newly repainted glory, he had to hoarde attention.

“Yes,” Optimus said. “He mentioned the other day how a base or official ally on the other side of the world might be beneficial to us. I can’t say I completely disagree with him. What do you think, Prowl?”

Personally, he thought a great many things about the mech in question actually. He felt a doorwing twitch again, but his face remained even and cool. “Perhaps it isn’t an unsound thought,” he had to concede. “However, I do not believe Sealand would be that advantageous an ally, and it may actually answer other, more powerful nations who might otherwise help us.”

Prime nodded at the well thought out argument. “Still, you have to admire his foresight and initiative in inviting them.” Prowl thought of very little to admire about Sideswipe at that moment, but his Commander was still speaking. “I will be sure to commend him later for it.” Oh lovely. “I will leave the delegation for you to take care of.”

Well that wasn’t the plan at all. Optimus was supposed to go with him and suffer the micronation making its demands as though it really were a country. He was the Commander, shouldn’t he handle this? Or at least play witness to it?

Yet as Commander, it was his right to delegate as he saw fit. It didn’t stop Prowl from trying one last time. “Sir, I really do think it would be best if you attended, and…”

He pretended he didn’t see the amused flicker of the mighty Prime’s optics as he considered his trusted XO. “Are you kidding?” he asked, sounding more like the young mech Prowl had first met many years ago. “I don’t want to go to that thing. I have an army to run.”

So did Prowl, but he wisely chose to bow to rank and duty. “I’ll take care of it then,” he said.

“Better you than me.” Was the quiet chuckle in reply.

Prowl chose to ignore that too. Oh, the red one would pay for this. He would pay dearly. The Unmaker’s minion knew this would happen. He had to have. Everyone knew how much Optimus Prime hated these sorts of things and how Prowl always ended up doing it. He knew it would take all day. He knew it was a pointless, useless waste of Prowl’s talent and time… and all under the guise of international diplomacy.

He was good.

Death was too good for him. Prowl would not allow him that sweet mercy.

5 hours later, however, found Prowl envisioning each and every manner of death that could be performed upon the current object of his ire. For the past 4.75 of those 5 hours, he had been trying to interject to Prince Royal James that all of this arguments and proposed treaties didn’t matter. The prince wasn’t hearing it, and continued as he had been. Clearly he was well used to not being taken seriously and was determined to either persuade the Autobot to change his stance or get him to give in just to make it stop. 

2 hours ago, Bumblebee had been summoned back to medical by a frantic First Aid who simply had to see to the mini-bot’s progress, and no it could not wait, thank-you-very-much. Prowl suspected Bumblebee had alerted the Protectobot to his location and the XO was caught between annoyance at the abandonment and jealousy for not thinking of it himself.

“…And so you see that through official recognition on your part of our independent nation, you will be seen as pioneers by the other nations. By taking such an active role in our planet’s activities, you will then no longer be faced into the role of political refugees in exile, but as a full participating member. Why, this could be the first step to obtaining territory for your own people to control.”

Primus, his processor hurt. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bates.” An annoyed pause. “Your Highness.” That was better. “But our status as exiled refugees is merely temporary as it is, and we have no wish to establish a colony of our own.”

“Yes, but…” Prowl held up a hand to continue.

“As we are guests of the United States, we must respectfully bow to their authority in the manner of international regulation and recognition.”

“If you would just…”

“And, if the day comes when the United States decides to recognize you as an independent nation, the Autobots will gladly follow suit and we may discuss further arrangements.”

Lady Something-Or-Other tried her best next. “The ecological and economic benefits by a joint treaty between our people…”

His limit finally reached, Prowl stood, thus startling her out of what she was going to say next. “I believe I have made our position on the matter clear,” he said. “I am sorry we couldn’t come to a more mutually agreeable solution, but you may feel free to contact me at any time in the future.”

Whether or not he responded was another matter.

“Prowl…”

“Please allow me to show you back to your vehicle, Your Highness.”

Unhappy but seeing the toss-out for what it was, the 10 members of the royal delegation, over 1/3 of the nation’s population, begrudgingly followed the black and white. He had to admire their tenacity despite all the rejections they must have received. When he was more rested, he might even feel guilty for turning them down without giving them a real chance. The Autobots were probably a last ditch effort by the micro-nation for recognition, and Sideswipe giving them false hope with the invitation was borderline cruel. The prank had been on them more than it had been on Prowl. And all for a little attention?

Well, he had Prowl’s full attention now. Let’s hope he was ready for what that entailed.

Right now, in the wee hours when all was quiet, he had time to think. That was when he always came up with his best ideas. His best strategies that left the enemy wondering what had just hit them.

Before settling in for a hard night’s work, he made a quick phone call to place an emergency order. He would owe quite a few favors from this but it was well worth it. This would buy him some time while he devised the final solution to end the war.

He would have to hit hard and he would have to hit fast. It was time this game came to an end.

Prowl would look forward to a month of well earned peace. His engine idled in a soft purr at the very thought of it.

OoOoOo

It was not yet dawn when Sideswipe began to stir. At first he thought his brother had returned from his evening patrol duty, but the yellow twin was nowhere to be seen. The lights were still off. All was quiet except for the static of the t.v. which they’d forgotten to shut off again. So what could have woken him?

The formally red warrior sat up and reached over to turn on the lights. He was amazed at what he saw.

The room was filled with vases and vases of red roses. No less than 10 dozen were there; all in perfect stages of blooming and crisp from having been kept cool to avoid spoiling. He’d never been known as the lightest sleeper, in fact it often took his brother tugging him off the bunk to get him up, but how could they have been placed in here without waking him? And what had woken him just now?

Curious, he hopped off the top bunk, careful to avoid stepping on any of the lovely flowers. In the back of his mind, he recognized a trap when he saw one. And with them laid out in a giant red chevron shape, his suspicion only grew.

Idly scratching his arm, Sideswipe looked around for any other sign of what had to be a prank, yet found none. What was this? Was it purely a ruse to make him expect a prank and only his paranoia being the pay off? No, it couldn’t be… Prowl had used that tactic a few days ago, and wasn’t likely to do it again. Then what? Sideswipe didn’t dare to believe that this was real. If so, it was as much an admission of defeat as he could get.

“Hn…” he muttered. “Should’ve just delivered a can of red paint instead.”

He scratched his chestplate and tip-toed around the vases to where a card had caught his attention. This one appeared to have wording on it, written on in stylized calligraphy that was both exact yet flowing. Precise, with a regional flair that was hard to mask, and oh so familiar.

“It is my wish,” Sideswipe read aloud in a snooty Praxian accent to imitate his snooty Vice Commander. “That these roses make you feel the same way I feel about you.”

What?

It wasn’t until he noticed that he was scratching again that Sideswipe realized something was very wrong. Taking the deceptively sweet words into consideration, and knowing there was no way he wasn’t going to regret this, Sideswipe enhanced the magnification of his optics, the only part Ratchet had been able to clean off before unceremoniously kicking him out of medical.

What he saw made him understand, with horrifying clarity, the meaning behind the lovely note.

“Fragging son of a Seeker!” he cursed, hands trying to wipe off the thousands of tiny insects from his chassis. Already he could feel the itch transforming into a dull burn deep in his wiring in his joints. They were everywhere. Or his berth. On the flowers. On the floor. On his body…. And it was only getting worse!

To try and avoid the worst of it, he slid open the door and started flinging flowers out into the hall, not caring about the vases that shattered against the floor. It was a futile gesture; the infestation had already taken hold. The burning started to escalate until his whole body felt like a miserable ball of irritation, and no amount of wiggling or scratching would relief the sensation of hundreds of organics crawling on and in him.

It was on the last heave of infested roses out the door that Sunstreaker finally came home from patrol. Sideswipe tried to stop himself, but by the time he realized it, Sunstreaker was already covered in water and rose bits, with shards of glass at his feet. Deed already done, Sideswipe did the only brave thing he could do when faced with a soaked, dirty, and tired Sunny.

He ran before his twin recovered from the shock and started feeling the itch.

It took both Ratchet and First Aid to keep Sunstreaker from dismembering the red warrior who’d holed himself up in the CMO’s office until he was reassured that it was safe to come out. By then, Sunstreaker had started feeling the burning itch, and upon finding out just why that was, threatened to make his twin swallow his jet pack sideways.

Sideswipe ran back into the office.

“Get out here!” Ratchet hollered, trying and failing to override the door mechanism. Somehow Sideswipe overrode the override.

“I won’t!” was the frantic answer. Ratchet could hear the creaking of metal against metal as the red hellion used the corner of his desk to scratch an itch on his back.

First Aid approached the door next, before the CMO could kick the door down and take him out forcibly. “Sideswipe,” he said in that gentle voice of his that could belong only to a healer of bodies and souls. Or a psychotic mass murderer. One of the two. “Sideswipe, please come out. I promise nothing bad will happen to you.”

“Slag off!” was his reward of a response.

“There, you see, Aid?” Ratchet snorted, crossing his arms. “No use in being polite with this lot. The only way you can get them to behave is brute force.”

The Protectobot thought for a moment, optics dimming behind his visor. He turned back to the door and the smile was audible even with his mask on. “Sideswipe,” he said again, in that same soft tenor of his. “I have red and black paint.”

He stumbled back and nearly fell from surprise when the door opened and the larger warrior shoved his way out. By the time he recovered, Sideswipe was already seated on a berth built for his size, and impatient look on his canary-colored face. His legs swung back and forth like a child, and he leaned back a little on his hands.

“Well?” he asked. “Get to it.”

First Aid shot a triumphant look at his mentor and went to work, first cleansing and soothing the burning systems with a gentle solution. No one asked where he had come up with such a specific sort of liquid. After all, when one worked in such a base as this, where Lamborghinis ran wild and Mini-bots reigned supreme, it was best to be prepared for every sort of situation imaginable and flexible enough for those you couldn’t have imagined. It was always needed.

As Sideswipe allowed the small red and white to work on him, he found himself drifting into what a more spiritual mech might call meditation. He didn’t know what he called it, but he always did his best thinking this way. Somewhere between the world of the waking and recharge, he could devise new methods to taking an enemy’s head off, come up with a design to alter his weapons to make them more effective… or formulate a prank with the clarity and ruthlessness as any of Prowl’s battle plans. It was this that he thought of now. A prank so cruel, so effective, that it would end this war once and for now. He just needed 12 hours. 12 hours and the 2IC would be his.

Oh yes. The final battle was now.

It was, as they said, on.


	7. End Game - Son of the Revenge of the Return of What I Know You Did, Annihilation

19 hours.

19 blissful, silent, boring hours.

He'd forgotten what boring was. He needed boring more often. He made a mental note to pencil in more boring into his schedule.

From 0300 to 2200, the only thing Prowl had to worry about was catching up on his work and taking care of administrative errands. He'd even had time to do a walk-through of the base to see how everything was. It was something he never got around to as much as he liked. It allowed the soldiers to see him and make him more accessible, and it allowed him to see things first-hand. Datapads couldn't compare to actually going out and seeing it yourself.

The Lambo twins were both fully accounted for thankfully. Both had been released from medical before morning ration, each bug-free and painted their proper colors. The red was under current orders from the yellow to clean up and de-bugify their room under threat of some sort of cause of death. Prowl hadn't been paying attention. Sunstreaker decided to bunk with Bluestreak until said task was complete. Sideswipe, meanwhile, took to this job reluctantly, though with full effort. He emerged only once to make a run into town for bug fog before returning to work.

All in all, it had been a most pleasant day.

Prowl was not fool enough to think it would last; especially after ruining what should have been a rare day of off-duty time for Sideswipe. So he savored this day of peace, and consoled himself with the knowledge that it was merely a brief taste of what he would experience for a month. He didn't care what it took anymore. Save the limits demanded by the contract, Prowl would do whatever it took to win this war.

It was with this assurance in mind that he sank down onto the yielding padding of his berth, sans skidplate cemented deck chair, and shut down into recharge.

He didn't know how brief that peace would be.

It started around 2330, just long enough for all of Prowl's systems to begin their defrag and restorations. It started quietly, and then gradually increased in volume until he could no longer ignore it. Prowl woke to the sound of an alarm clock playing "La Cucaracha" quite obnoxiously. With an unhappy and knowing sigh, Prowl onlined his optics and leaned over to peer under the berth where a large human alarm clock sat, seemingly set for 2330.

He reached in and picked it up, deactivating it quickly. He had a bad feeling about this, but for now could only imagine where this would lead. Prowl placed the clock on the nightstand beside his berth and rolled back over.

At 2340, the second alarm clock sang out "La Cucaracha." This one was placed further back under the berth, so he had missed it the first time. Just for good measure, the tired 2IC checked the rest of the area beneath the berth and found two more, though they weren't set to go off at all. What could that mean?

Unhappily realizing that he would probably find out in good time, Prowl set the three new alarm clocks beside the first and slipped back into recharge.

At 2350, as "La Cucaracha" sang out from under the nightstand, he knew exactly where this was going.

Prowl mentally cursed Sideswipe as he retrieved this clock and deactivated it, and he knew even as he did so, that he had yet to truly dislike what was to come. These clocks were small, and the wiring of them were too similar to the wiring within and surrounding his quarters, making a scan nearly useless.

He lay back down, unable to do anything else, waiting for 2400. Except this next alarm, and he knew there would be a next, came after 5 minutes this time instead of 10. This one was located under his desk. So he thought he was clever, huh?

Prowl refused to take this insult lying down, literally, any longer. He activated his lights and began the search. Alarm clocks started going off at shorter and shorter intervals now, until any time between 1 minute and 10, the room would be filled with the merry Spanish tune. There was no end to them!

They were on, under, and in his desk. Around his shelving, between datapads, in the small storage cabinet still locked and protected by his own person code, which he then had to change. As quickly as he could find and deactivate the small alarm clocks, more went off in another location. Now they started going off two or three at a time, from every corner of his room.

By 0215, he had at last exhausted every conceivable hiding spot in his room. A minimalist by nature, Prowl was still impressed at how many spots there were where one could hide the tiny devices.

All was quiet. 53 alarm clocks of varying shapes, sizes, and colors were lined up on his nightstand in perfect formation.

5 minutes went by. Then 10. Then 15.

He'd found them all.

With a sigh, Prowl returned to his berth and lay back down, looking forward to a restful, if a little shorter, night's sleep.

At 0237, the next alarm went off.

It was thanks only to the unshakeable self-control that Prowl had been created with that he did not roar out his rage at this new interruption. Instead, he rose from the berth and slapped on the lights, scanning the room with a pair of dangerously slitted optics.

Where had he hidden it? Where had that miserable, Unicron-spawned, blight upon the Universe, crimson carnation of carnage, eternal torment of his soul hidden this one, when all hiding spots had been uncovered? There was no possible, logical way that there was another alarm clock in his room.

Unfortunately for his ever-suffering battle computer, Sideswipe did not exist on a plane that accepted logic or any other natural laws of the Universe. There was no clock in his room.

Under it, however, was another story.

By the time he was able to pull up the loose panel in his floor, "La Cucaracha" was well into its third verse. Prowl didn't bother to shut this one off, merely squashing it with a hand as he imagined it to be his nemesis' head.

There would be no sleep for him tonight, he accepted with grim fury. One by one, he started pulling up his floor. While he found no more alarm clocks in the floor, he didn't dare trust that he'd gotten them all.

After he was confident that there were no more clocks beneath the floor, his attention shifted to the walls. The ceiling. The plating that made up his personal desk and berth and nightstand and shelving.

So focused was he on locating and destroying every Primus-forsaken alarm clock, that he failed to notice that he hadn't actually located any more after number 54, the one in the floor.

At 0550, Prowl had about half of all the room paneling removed and piled neatly according to where he'd gotten it from. No new alarm clocks had been found, but at least now he knew. And with less than 10 minutes before his own alarm would go off, Prowl decided to cut his losses. Hearing one more alarm, even his soothing Iaconian classical recording, ran the serious risk of making him snap. He'd done all-nighters before, and he'd do more. With his job, he did them at least once a week. Yet one such as this… well… thankfully for the red one's sake, this would come to a brutal close. Much more of this, and everyone, Prowl included, would find out what happened when his calm finally ran out.

A few minutes later found him at the lounge for his morning cube of energon. Though after the previous evening, he'd needed two more than usual. Taking his precious cubes, he made his way over to where Jazz was already seated, ignoring the pair of primary colored brothers seated not far away. He could feel Sideswipe's optics on him as he walked, but didn't give so much as a haughty flick of his doorwings. His time would come soon enough.

"Long night?" asked Jazz when his friend sat down. He knew Prowl's habits well enough to know he only had this much energon in the morning after not getting any rest the night before, and he knew for a fact that Prowl had turned in early. Yet if Prowl had an explanation to give, he wasn't offering it up. He only gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and started on his first cube.

"So whaddya think, Prowler?" he tried again for conversation. Prowl's blank face made him grin lopsidedly. Had he really not noticed? One would think Prowl would be the first to have an opinion. And a medal ready.

"What do I think about what?" Prowl asked, not really in the mood for guessing games.

"Sideswipe, man," Jazz answered. "And whoever's been after him."

A doorwing twitched, but Jazz misinterpreted it as curiosity. "I beg your pardon?" the XO asked. "Someone is 'after' Sideswipe?"

He could feel the red Pit-rejected hellion's optics on him again.

"You can't tell me you haven't noticed," Jazz scoffed. "Someone's been pranking him and his brother real good. You gotta have an idea as to who's behind it."

Prowl covered his smirk by taking a sip from his second cube. "Yes, well," he said, "I do have a few theories."

"Oh yeah?" the Special Ops officer leaned forward conspiratorially. "Who is it? I know you know."

Prowl wondered how best to proceed. Jazz knew a liar when he saw one, and he could read Prowl almost as good as his own creator. However, in keeping with the spirit and rules of the game, Prowl merely shrugged again. "As long as no one is harmed and no base rules are broken or duties disrupted, I see no harm in a little… recreation from time to time."

Jazz smirked and sipped from his own cube. "Yeah right. You're just glad to see that li'l devil gettin' a taste of his own medicine for a change."

Another wing flick, this time interpreted correctly as affirmation. "I do not know what you are talking about," he replied like a good XO, both knowing it for a lie.

Jazz only laughed. "Sure y' don't, man. Anyway, I'm off."

"You are training today, are you not?"

"Yep. First Wednesday of the month as always." Jazz stood and took the empty energon cubes. Prowl was currently on his third.

"Enjoy yourself," Prowl replied with a small smile. He knew his friend hated being cooped up for too long, and these monthly trainings he held with his team was a healthy outlet for extra energy. Plus he had a few credits on when young Streetwise would finally be able to sneak up on the elder black and white.

After Jazz exited, Prowl was left to his own thoughts. He was in a slightly better mood than he had been, though not enough to dampen his determination to destroy his enemy completely. He needed to land one final blow strong enough to dissuade all further resistance. Sideswipe surrounded to no foe, on or off the battlefield, and Prowl needed him to do just that. It would be easier to convince Sunstreaker to roll around in a mud puddle.

Yet he was not the Vice Commander for nothing. He lived to do the impossible, from organizing a rag tag group of soldiers to breaking the will of the unbreakable.

The loud popping and sparks took him completely off guard. In his tired daze, Prowl didn't notice the cherry bombs until they were exploding all around him. Startled, he jumped back from his seat, dropping his empty energon cube which shattered on the ground. He didn't cry out, but the reaction of the otherwise stoic 2IC, with his optics wide and doorwings fully flared out, it was enough to bring everyone in the room to laughter. Both twins were on the other side of the room, too far away to make an accusation, but the slag-eating grin on Sideswipe's face said all Prowl needed to know. As if there was any doubt.

Prowl forced his spark back down his throat and gathered what little dignity remained, and strode out the door. "Sideswipe," he said on the way out. "I must be on my way. If you would collect the broken glass for me, I would greatly appreciate it."

For once, Sideswipe didn't argue, still laughing. "Whatever you say, copper."

Prowl tried to ignore the new bout of laughter that erupted after he exited the room.

The walk to his office took far longer than Prowl would have liked. At this point, all he wanted to do was retreat to the safety of his office and get to work. If he never saw a Lambo again, it would be too soon. Surely this was punishment for some heinous crime of his past.

By the time he reached his office door, Prowl's overtired nerves had finally calmed back down. His inner calm had been re-established. Sideswipe be slagged, all was going to be alright. Barring an influx of diplomats from the Republic of Molossia, he was going to be productive!

At some moment, he didn't know exactly when, Prowl considered defeat. It was a moment somewhere between opening the door to his office, taking in the sight before him, and being knocked down by a herd of no less than a dozen squealing pigs as they raced to the freedom that was the vast hallway system of the Ark. Whenever that moment happened exactly, Prowl had considered the possibility that he was outmatched. Surely accepting defeat was much safer than dealing with this.

From his position on the ground, Prowl watched the last sow dash her way around the corner. His aft hurt from where he'd landed on it, and he could feel his tired battle computer threaten to seize on him. Yet he set his jaw and narrowed his optics into dangerous pale blue slits. The moment of defeat passed, and he vowed to bring Sideswipe to his knees.  
For the time being, however, he had a few pigs to collect. Surely it wouldn't be too hard. It was just a some organics, right?

Prowl stood back up and walked into his office, pressing the comm button on the desk to alert the entire base. [Attention everyone,] he announced. [This is Prowl. It appears we have some… loose animals running around the base. I require assistance in collecting them so that they may be returned to their rightful owners. Please bring any of the animals that you find directly to Conference Room 1.] Already he knew Red Alert would be going into conniptions, and Groove would be trying to adopt all of the wandering creatures and hide them in his room.

He thought for a moment, and then it dawned on him. [Jazz,] he radioed privately.

[Jazz here. What's up, Prowler?]

[I am in need of your assistance and that of your team. If you would not mind, please return to base.]

The disappointment in his friend's voice was clear. [Aw, man… we only get t' go out once a month for this.]

He did know that and he truly regretted having to cut the training session short. [I will make it up to you, I promise. I'll make time for you all to continue later this week.]

[Alright, whatchu need doin'?]

[…Someone let a herd of pigs into my office, and now they are roaming throughout the base.]

A few minutes later, after allowing Jazz to compose himself, Prowl was reassured that the team was on their way, and not to worry. Pigs couldn't be that hard to catch, right?

Such musings were merely the dreams of the delusional. Not only was it hard to catch a pig, but there were surprisingly few volunteers for the job. Suddenly everyone had something to do that was much more important than chasing after the wayward livestock like "Primus forsaken backwater hicks" as Ironhide had so eloquently described before needing to see Red Alert about something crucial that just couldn't wait. What few mechs he had been able to wrangle together for the job were less than enthusiastic and weren't very good at it besides.

Perhaps the only blessing was that each pig had a number painted to their back denoting which one it was. Probably done by the Unicron-spat imp so he could keep track of them before and after the deed. Said imp had been recruited into pig-catching detail, but wasn't trying very hard. Why should he? It was much more fun watching the half-asleep Prowl try to scoop the little creatures up in his hands without hurting them. They were so wriggly and against the idea of being caught, that it made for a very entertaining show indeed.  
By noon, through the grace of whatever gods still smiled upon him, Prowl had 11 of the 12 pigs in custody. Number 7, however, seemed to be ever elusive and no one had seen hide nor hair of him.

"It wasn't me!" Groove insisted after being asked the tenth time. "I already gave you the three I got. Should still let me keep them…they'll just get shipped off to be made into grandma's pot roast or something!"

"Pot roast is made with cow," Prowl replied patiently. "Now are you sure…"

"Yes!"

Again he looked over the small herd. One through six… then eight through twelve. They were all here except that one.

One, two, three hours later, and still no sign of the missing creature. Prowl double-checked with local police trying to determine just where these pigs had come from. It was slow work, but eventually a farmer came forward, though he was claiming the wrong number taken. He said he was missing 11 of his best show pigs, taken late in the night by an unknown thief.

Prowl was about to dismiss this claim, when Jazz tapped him on the shoulder. "Uh, Prowler," he said, in that hesitant voice that told the XO he wouldn't like this. "I think those are his pigs."

"How can they?" Prowl asked. "We have 12 pigs here, and as soon as we find the last one…"

"That's just it, man. I don't think there is a last one."

"What do you mean? Of course there is. We have one through six and eight through twelve. I counted them mys…"

Oh.

"We'll deliver the pigs as soon as we can get them loaded up!" Jazz said merrily to the farmer on the phone. Prowl, meanwhile, had leaned forward to gently rest his brow on the wall and deactivated his optics. He needed a moment.

"Uh, boss," Streetwise's voice chimed in from the back. "We have the pigs tethered up. You want us to take them somewhere?"

Prowl needed another moment, so Jazz easily fell into the command role on this one. "Yeah, Prime said he'd offer up his trailer for us to use. Get Mirage and Bee to help you load them up. I'll be out in a minute."

The young Protectobot tilted his head as he shifted his gaze to the 2IC who remained motionless against the wall. "…is he alright?"

"Jazz," Prowl requested softly. "Please excuse me for a few minutes. I require a moment of privacy."

His friend waved the younger mech off and patted Prowl on the shoulder. He winced at the sight of both doorwings held painfully taut. This was going to be a bad one. "I'll be right outside, buddy," he promised. "But look on the bright side. It's only 1700 and we did manage to catch them all."

"Please leave. Right now."

In the end, it turned out to be a great exercise day for the special ops team after all. As pigs weren't known to be the easiest of Earth's organics to catch, they got plenty of maneuvering practice in. They had to be stealthy, smart, one step ahead from a very skittish and unpredictable (and in Bumblebee's case sometimes dangerous) beast. That, perhaps, was the only good thing to come from this day brought on by the Pit-spawn Seeker reject.

Prowl had never felt so tired before in his many million years of life. His joints ached. His door hinges ached. His battle computer was one cherry bomb away from complete and utter meltdown. During his few minutes of blissful solitude, the black and white tried desperately to compose himself. He could not give in. He could not show just how much of a toll this ill-conceived prank war had taken on him.

He could not fail to win it either.

This was it. The final straw to break this Datsun's back. His next move was going to win this once and for all and with such devastating results that Sideswipe could not and would not retaliate. The month of victory would be his!

At 1704, Prowl finally exited the room and nodded to both Jazz and Streetwise. "Are the animals safely loaded?"

"Yep," Jazz grinned in that crooked way he did. "All done."

"And Prime knows where to drop them off?"

"Yep."

"So we are done here."

"Yep." The grin wavered a little and turned a bit more indulgent. That careful smile you gave a mech completely unhinged. Was he truly that obvious? Streetwise backed up a step and he just shrugged it off. The young one would learn in time.

"Then have a good evening."

Now Jazz's smile failed completely. Something was seriously wrong here. "Wait…you're going to bed? I mean, it's been a long day and you do work a lot, but…"

"Not at all," the smile on Prowl's face was foreign and unsettling. Jazz and Streetwise both stepped back again. "I am giving you and your team the rest of the night off. I appreciate the hard work you have all given me today, especially considering this was your special day of training. So please, enjoy your free evening."

The pair sputtered a thank you and retreated while the retreating was good. Yet it wasn't those two that needed to do the retreating.

The moment both bystanders were out of sight, the smile faded from Prowl's face. He turned and stalked back toward his office where a day's worth of paperwork awaited him, untouched as of yet due to the day's events. It was fine. A few cubes of mid-grade and sheer will would help him get them done before the dawn. What he needed before that, though, was a plan. Red Alert's newest security measures could wait a moment. He had a Lamborghini to flay.

OoOoOo

"Why are you leaving so soon?" Did his brother actually sound upset?

"I told you, Sunny," Sideswipe replied as he packed, personal weapons and datapads disappearing into subspace as soon as he touched them. "I need a vacation."

"Is it because I gave you slag about the bugs?" The yellow twin sighed and tried to stop his brother's frantic moving about the room. Part of his cold shriveled black spark felt a little guilty. He'd given his twin a lot of grief since all of this started up a couple weeks ago. It wasn't Sideswipe's fault that someone was clearly out to get one or both of them.

No wait. Scratch that. It was probably 100% his fault.

Yet they were still brothers. Twins. Sparked as one and split into existence. They lived, fought, and would die together. You couldn't have one without the other; that was a basic fact. So why did his brother want to leave so suddenly?

"I could go with you," Sunstreaker tried again. "I have leave saved up too."

Sideswipe looked back at his twin and paused from his packing. He'd put in for leave secretly through Jazz, knowing that Prowl would never approve it. Rules or no rules, Prowl wanted his victim nearby, and after what he did today, nearby is definitely the last place he wanted to be. Yet his brother looked like a kicked puppy standing there like that. A big golden puppy.

"Aw, Sunny…" he sighed. "It's just for a little bit. Two weeks isn't that long. When I come back we'll find something else to do. Besides, you'll be glad I'm gone. This is really so whoever is after me will leave both of us alone. You'd like that, right?"

Sunstreaker couldn't deny that and he didn't. "You promise? Just for two weeks?"

"Yeah," he grinned weakly. "Just till this dies down. What, you need a nightlight? Big red carebear to cuddle?"

The teasing did it. His brother snorted and gave him a playful shove. "It'll be nice not having to deal with your snoring or hogging the playstation all to yourself. Get out of here, aftwipe, before I toss you out."

Sideswipe tossed him a playful salute and opened the door. "Don't miss me too much!"

"Don't die before I get the chance to kill you!" was the cheerful retort.

Skyfire was waiting out front as he said he would be, fueled up and ready to go. It had taken a few cubes of home-brewed high grade to convince him, but the large jet had finally agreed to take him where he needed to go. Someplace far away, he wasn't too picky on where. Somewhere with nice waves. A beach perhaps. As Skyfire was needed off continent anyway, it would be nothing to drop him off somewhere along the way and pick him up when it was time to go home.

"Ready, Sideswipe?" he was asked as he walked onboard. Enough comic books to keep a mech happy forever. Three weeks worth of rations just in case. His aft in one piece as he had safely evaded Prowl's unholy wrath. Yep, he was ready.

"Let's hit it, big guy," he patted the hull and sat down in what he hoped was a good spot. Jets were notoriously whiny about moving about too much inside them. Wimps.

Satisfied that his passenger was content where he was and wouldn't fidget, well too much anyway, Skyfire fired up his jets and taxied out. Before long, the unknown getaway plane had taken off and was headed up into the atmosphere, and the danger of dead Lambo seemed to be a faraway dream.

He was untouchable now. He'd won by default, as Prowl had no way to get him back. No rule ever said that Sideswipe couldn't break and run. The last move had been his…so really he wasn't running away from his duty, real or contracted. The days of leave had been approved. He'd gotten Prowl, and he'd gotten him good. Only a coward would run, especially from a stuffy snooty Praxian, and he was no coward. He was merely performing evasive maneuvers, that's all.

All was going well five hours into the flight. Skyfire had only had to threaten fuselage eviction three times in light of Sideswipe's physical incapability to hold still. They were both mostly silent otherwise. They had very little in common, though they got on well enough. There just wasn't much a melee warrior and scientist could talk about without sounding contrived, and if there was one thing both of them hated, it was pretending just for the sake of it.

Somewhere over the New England coast, as Skyfire was preparing to enter the Atlantic airspace, a call came in from HQ. [Skyfire here,] he answered on his personal comm.

[Ah, Skyfire. This is Prowl…]

OoOoOo

While puzzled, Skyfire certainly wasn't alarmed that he'd called, Prowl noted. So that meant that Sideswipe was still playing by the rules and was keeping the others ignorant. Good, he would hate to get innocents involved any more than he had to. For a moment, he'd been concerned that Skyfire had become an accomplice in this game when time came to check on where his favorite scarlet pet had scampered off to.

He'd have to speak with Jazz later on the protocol in approving leave without Prowl's knowledge. Perhaps it might seem redundant, but there shouldn't be any personnel changes made behind his back, unintentional though Jazz's part may have been in the matter. Though knowing his old friend, Prowl wondered just how unintentional it really was.

[I understand you have Sideswipe on board?] he asked Skyfire, knowing the answer.

[Yes, sir,] was the dutiful reply, edged with uncertainty. [Did you need him back for something? I could turn around…]

[Oh no, not at all. He has been approved leave, and as he takes so very little of it, I see no reason for him to carry on as expected. I was merely curious as to his destination.]

[Not quite sure yet, Sir. He said he wanted to be by the ocean, and there's a couple spots along the way to where I'm needed in Italy…]

Prowl's doorwings flicked in amusement. [Oh…? I do believe our new friends in Sealand are on the way, are they not?]

[Yes, they are, sir.] There was confusion in his voice.

[Sideswipe is the one who invited them over to us. Perhaps he would like to visit them?]

Skyfire was still unsure. [Are you saying I should bring him there, sir?]

[Not at all. I cannot order anyone where to go for leave.] There…the idea was planted, now just a little more…

[I'm not overly fond of small patches of land, sir.]

Prowl purred deep in his engine. [He is less fond of it, I believe.]

Skyfire considered this for a moment just at the same time as Sideswipe fidgeted in his cargo bay again, that minute movement enough to make him compensate for the shift. He'd told him to keep still, after all.

[Sealand, you say?]

[It is completely your choice,] Prowl assured him. [I am merely pointing out a place he has been very interested in as of late.]

There was a long pause as the scientist considered this more. [I'll see you in two weeks, sir.]

[Have a safe journey.]

Prowl shut off his comm and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head. Two weeks of peace… that was even better than 19 hours of boredom. The rules of the contract may have been bent a little with this last one, but as the red warrior so often loved to do the same with any regulation that he came across, Prowl only felt it appropriate to do the same. Besides, if Sideswipe didn't like it, he could always forfeit and give him a free month of angelic behavior.

That is, if this didn't defeat him entirely already.

Oh yes, sometimes it was good to be bad. He may have to try it more often.

Game.

Set.

Match.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of mine from Fanfiction.net back in the days when I wrote TF fanfic all the time. It seemed to be well-received, and so I would like to share a recently-edited-because-it's-old-and-needed-fixing version of it here. There's nothing major different about it besides typos and such, so for those two of you who remember this fic, don't expect anything crazy ;)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!


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